


What the Dead Man Felt

by killersnowball



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 96,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27670981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killersnowball/pseuds/killersnowball
Summary: When Ronon Dex is freed from being a Runner and brought back to Atlantis, he is confronted with culture shock unlike anything he ever expected. Grace Becque is an anthropologist with the expedition who is content to remain in the background. The only exceptional thing about her is the supper club. A small group of Lanteans have dinner together for a taste of home, a rare chance to relax, and good conversation.Ronon is invited to join them in his first weeks on Atlantis and drawn by the prospect of free food, Ronon's all in. What he didn't expect was to be confronted with growing and conflicted feelings where the quiet anthropologist is concerned. After seven years of physical and emotional starvation, Ronon must learn how to cope with both a new life and a new perspective.When the two are sent on a mission together, Ronon is tasked with keeping Grace safe in a tricky situation. What happens on the planet they visit, they agree, must stay on the planet. However, when Ronon finds himself unable to let go of a promise made, what will the consequences to them both be?Beware, smut.All currently written chapters are posted as of 11/23/2020. I will be uploading the rest as I write, a chapter per week.
Relationships: Ronon Dex/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 21





	1. Language Disguises Thought

Grace stepped inside the gym to be greeted by the whacking sound that seemed to follow Teyla anytime the woman was in the space. She moved to lean against the stack of mats, watching as the Athosian woman went toe to toe with the large form of the newest arrival on Atlantis. On the other end of the room, two armed guards sat, watching the round. At first glance, they were politely attentive, but at second, it looked very much like they were bored out of their minds. 

Teyla grunted and surged forward to meet the hulking form of the man she was sparring, blow for blow until she finally managed to slip under his arm and peg him right in the belly. The man grunted, but seemed undeterred, gripping one of Teyla’s wrists and executed a surprisingly elegant spin, tucking her arm up and behind her back, his other hand moving to press the wooden practice sword to her throat. In the next moment, he released her, backing away and giving a swing of the sword. 

The man was huge, a mountain made human. His expression was stoic and he didn’t smile, even as he’d clearly won that round. He moved toward the guards and reached for the water bottle on the bench beside them. Teyla offered Grace a wave as she padded barefoot across the floor, slightly breathless. Even in defeat, the woman was a study in fluid grace. “Dr. Becque! Have you finally decided to take me up on my offer of training you in using the bantos rods?” 

“Ah. No. I appreciate the offer though, as usual.” Grace gave a grin as she extended the clipboard she held. “I brought the ingredient sheet for this week. I have nearly everything I need. But I was hoping you might be able to recommend a planet where I could get some fresh vegetables to add to the meal if you saw the ingredient list.” 

Teyla’s smile was kind as the man stood just off to the side, towel over his shoulder, water bottle in hand, his expression closed off and uninterested. “Gumbo? Like last year?” 

“Yes. But this time, my friend on the Daedalus found room in the freezer for real shrimp, so it’s going to be even better. What I don’t have is celery, and I know you know what it is, but I was hoping you might-” Grace trailed off as Teyla grinned. 

“I do, actually. There’s something that might work well. I’m going to the market on Manaria tomorrow, would you like me to get some things for you?” Teyla’s warm smile brought with it a wave of relief. 

Grace beamed at her, reaching out to grip Teyla by the elbow gently. “I would be grateful. I’ll come by your quarters later to bring you the money for it, Manarian coinage?” 

Teyla nodded. “That will be fine.” She glanced over her shoulder and gestured to the man. “Ah! I am being rude. I’m sorry. Grace, this is Ronon Dex. Ronon, meet Dr. Grace Becque. She’s a cultural anthropologist here.” 

The man stared at her without speaking. Grace offered a smile, though it was distinctly awkward. She glanced to Teyla, who spoke as if nothing were wrong. “Ronon has been offered a position on Colonel Sheppard’s team. He was a member of the Satedan military.” 

So this was the guy. This time, Grace’s smile was genuine. He did not smile back, but she did see a flicker of curiosity in his gaze as he stared at her openly. “It’s nice to meet you, Ronon. You should come with Teyla on Friday.” 

She saw him frown then, his gaze flicking toward Teyla in question. Teyla answered for her. “There is a group of us who get together to have dinner. We take turns cooking, the others attending provide beverages. It is an evening to relax among friends. You should come. You would enjoy it.” 

“Food?” It was the first time she heard his voice. A deep rumble that now held more than curiosity. 

“It’s my turn to cook, so I’ll be making sausage and shrimp gumbo. There will be salad and I believe that Andy said he was bringing beer he got on his last trip to Ilsan.” Grace grinned happily at the prospect. “I should be getting back to work. Teyla, I’ll stop by your quarters after dinner. Ronon, it was nice to meet you. I hope you come on Friday!” 

With that, she gave a final wave and turned to head out of the gym and back to her office. What Teyla had neglected to mention was that until Weir got around to hiring a replacement for Dr. Morrow, Grace was on her own with the workload of two people. And the work never seemed to end. 

****

Ronon was not having second thoughts about attending the dinner Teyla’s friend had invited him to. Nope. He’d passed second thoughts that morning, third thoughts by lunch, and fourth thoughts by the time Teyla had come to retrieve him from the watchful eyes of Merchant and Meyers, his evening guards. Teyla had quietly handed Meyers her radio. The man glanced toward him, then to Teyla before he quietly uttered the words “Yes, ma’am. Got it. Meyers out.” The Lieutenant passed the radio back to Teyla and then grinned toward Ronon. “Welcome to Atlantis, man.” 

In that moment, Ronon felt something like relief. While he’d been considering staying, Weir had also been considering him. Sheppard’s mind had been made up quickly, but Dr. Weir was far less trusting than the Colonel. Ronon couldn’t really blame her though. He’d held Teyla hostage less than two weeks ago. Ronon gave a nod toward the men as he watched them turn to leave the quarters he’d been staying in since his arrival. Teyla grinned up at him as she tucked the radio in her pocket and turned to indicate the door. “Dr. Weir will have permanent quarters assigned to you by Monday. Shall we go to dinner?” 

Ronon gave a nod as he fell into step beside her. It was odd, being free of the guards that had been following him around for eleven days. In some ways, it had been helpful. They hadn’t let him get lost, even if they had kept him from anywhere but the public areas of the base. The walk to the transporter was brief, and Ronon eyed the panel with interest as Teyla tapped an icon that represented one of the piers. It was the first time he’d ever left the central tower. 

When they stepped out, he followed Teyla down a short corridor and into a massive lobby. Soaring windows lined the room and plants covered every wall. The fading daylight bathed the area in a warm glow, and the lobby felt more like an atrium. It wasn’t the first time that Ronon stopped in his tracks since Sheppard had brought him to Atlantis. He tipped his head up, staring toward the upper levels. The center of the building was hollow, with walkways ringing the center, some ten floors up, at least. In the center, a massive tree that looked like it belonged in a forest reached for the glass ceiling of the building. 

“Ronon?” Teyla’s voice came from a few feet away. “It’s this way.” She gestured toward a staircase with the bottle of wine she held, the label printed in a language that wasn’t one of the dozen or so that Ronon could read. 

Ronon turned, hurrying after her, taking the steps two at a time until he caught up with her. Halfway around the ring formed by the walkway, Teyla stopped at a door, lifting her hand to wave it over the control panel. The door slid open to reveal a large, open room. Only when he stepped inside did the salty smell of the ocean hit his nose, mingling with the scent of spicy food that made his mouth instantly water. “Dr. Becque?” 

“In here!” The softly accented voice that was unlike the others he’d heard since his arrival drifted from around a corner. Ronon trailed after Teyla, studying the room that didn’t look like any in the main tower. It was one large room with several tables stacked to one side, as if the room were claimed, rather than in regular use. That set him at ease for some reason. In the center, close to the open sliding doors that led out onto a broad balcony overlooking the water, there was a round table with half a dozen chairs around it. 

Ronon turned to spot Teyla heading for a door on the right, and followed her. By the time he stepped through, he realized it was a kitchen. Not to the scale as the mess hall kitchen that he’d seen through the open kitchen door, but more like a home kitchen. It was all gleaming steel and marble. 

The small woman he’d met a couple of days before stood barefoot on a step stool, stirring the contents of a large pot on top of the stove carefully. She smiled brightly toward Teyla. “You’re the first ones here.” The woman looked different from the first time he’d seen her. She wasn’t wearing the uniform, that was the major change. Instead, she wore a pair of suede leggings that molded to her body. A loose blue blouse, the color of the lagoon on Sateda that he’d visited once when he was a child, skimmed her body, falling to her hips and ending just below her bottom. Wide-necked and gauzy, the fabric fell off one shoulder, revealing just a tantalizing hint of flesh. 

“Ah! And you brought your friend! That’s so great! Welcome. Ronon, right?” Ronon tore his eyes from her shoulder and back to her face before he gave a nod. The woman responded with a grin that made glacier blue eyes light up, seeming to literally fucking sparkle. 

Teyla gave Ronon a puzzled glance before she stepped forward toward a drawer. “Corkscrew?” 

“Drawer on the far left. Glasses above your head, I think. God only knows where Andy puts things when it's his turn to do the dishes.” The woman’s voice held a trace of amusement as she reached for a small glass bottle containing a powdered red spice. She flipped the lid up and tapped out just the smallest bit into the pot. When she leaned forward, Ronon got a perfect view of her leather encased bottom. 

Teyla cleared her throat and behind the woman’s back. When Ronon glanced at her, she was arching her brows in amusement and then gave a soft shake of her head. He shrugged lightly. It had been a long time since he’d been able to simply look at a woman's form and appreciate it. And there seemed to him to be no harm in it. 

The woman gave the pot one last stir as another voice called out. “Grace? You here?” 

“Kitchen!” She called out as she turned to hop off the step stool. Ronon realized then just how tiny the woman really was. She didn’t even come up to his shoulder. He turned to see another man entering the kitchen, a small keg propped on his shoulder. The man was wiry and younger than Ronon. He gave a broad grin, extending his hand toward Ronon first. “Ronon, right? Grace said you might be joining us tonight.” 

Ronon stared at the man’s hand for a moment before he reached out to accept it. It was a practice that would take some getting used to, the way the people of Atlantis shook hands. It was just so damn civilized. The man grinned. “I’m Andy Garrett. Nice to meet you. Welcome to Atlantis.” 

The man settled the keg down on the counter next to Teyla’s wine. “Beer from Ilsan. Actually brewed in house at the tavern there. It’s not bad at all. Not quite Guinness, but it’ll do. You gonna put that on the table, Becque?” 

Ronon was exhausted just listening to the man as he spoke. Becque spoke matter of factly. “Just because everyone else on this base is a giant doesn’t mean I’m gonna risk burning myself for your convenience. If you want it on the table, you move it.” 

Becque slipped on a pair of flat shoes that added nothing to her height. Ronon moved toward the stove, reaching for the thickly quilted pads that sat beside the big pot and rumbled out the word quietly toward the small woman. “Move..” 

He didn’t expect her to beam up at him as if he were, in fact, some kind of a hero. Her entire face lit up. That smile did something to Ronon’s stomach, tightening it in an unexpected sensation he hadn’t felt in literally years. He frowned and shoved aside the stray thought that the woman was lovely with her hair drawn up into some kind of complex bun, that resembled a braid coiled into itself. Other than a pair of small silver studs that glinted in the light of the kitchen, she wore no jewelry. It frustrated Ronon instantly that he noticed any of those things. 

The woman trailed after him into the dining room, carrying an armload of plates and bowls and an array of cutlery. Teyla followed close behind with a bowl of salad. No sooner had Ronon set the pot in the middle of the table than the door slid open and new voices joined the chorus of conversation. Another man and woman, each carrying a bottle of wine, made their way into the room. Ronon recognized Lorne, and stiffened immediately, before realizing the Major was actually smiling at him. The woman with him, Dr. Cindy Cole, he recognized as well, from his brief stay in the infirmary. The blonde woman offered him a genuine smile, even going so far as to reach out and squeeze his upper arm as she rounded the table to take a seat between Lorne and Andy. 

Becque sat beside him to his right, Teyla to his left. The easy conversation around him did little to set Ronon at ease as she looked around himself and realized it wasn’t just dinner among friends. It was a classy damn dinner party. He was the only one dressed like, well… a runner. Suddenly insecure, Ronon glanced to Teyla, who smiled at him reassuringly. He was acutely aware that he sat there in leather trousers that had seen better days and a torn shirt, the only shirt he actually owned. It was, at least clean. His boots were so worn that the only tread that remained on them was what he’d gouged out with his knife to make them last a little longer. He was clean though, so that had to count for something. 

Beside him, the tiny woman rose to her feet. “Everyone have something to drink?” Her hand moved as she scanned the table. “Good. Let’s get started then, shall we?” 

Ronon turned his attention to the woman, remaining still as he struggled to summon some memory of what his life had been like before. Before running. Before it had been obliterated. How many of these kinds of things had he sat through with Melena at his side? Dinners with unit commanders, other squad leaders. Weddings. Funerals. Betrothal parties. Celebrations for births of children who would never grow to adulthood. 

Becque’s soft voice tore him from those bitter memories, even as the wave of grief threatened to rise. “I am glad that everyone was able to come tonight. And especially grateful to Andy for real beer and not that crap they try to pass off as beer in the commissary.” A round of good-natured cheers rose, a couple of glasses raising toward the man who had apparently performed an alcohol related miracle. Ronon tamped down on the grief and focused his eyes on Teyla, using her as a fixed point. Her calm expression, replete with a contented smile soothed him, as he’d come to notice it always did. Within seconds, his heart slowed and he returned his attention to Becque. “So tonight, we have gumbo with shrimp, brought by our friends on board the Daedalus and stored in the infirmary by Cindy so that the mess hall didn’t try to steal it. Salad is courtesy of Teyla, who graciously sourced the ingredients for us from her trip to an off-world market this week, and freshly baked bread that Major Lorne likes to pretend he didn’t make himself. And of course, an apology in advance to Ronon, who is going to be subjected to Andy’s endless analysis of flavor profiles for the very first time. Sorry, Friend. It’s hard to shut him up. We’ll observe the usual rules. No politics, no religion, no Wraith at the dinner table. Eat and enjoy!” 

With that, Becque reached out to pluck the large bowl from its place in front of Ronon. To his surprise, she filled it nearly full, serving him first before she passed the ladle toward Teyla. A moment later, the bowl of salad appeared in front of him and Ronon gratefully loaded his plate. The bread was piping hot and he snagged two slices as the basket made its way around the table. The conversation was already in full swing by the time he picked up his spoon, glancing around the table. 

His eyes fell to the plethora of food that was the reason he’d agreed to come. Besides, it was a change of view from the mess hall and the quarters where he’d spent the last eleven nights bored out of his skull. The food was a stew, hearty and dark, packed with meat and vegetables. He could smell the heat and spice coming off of it and his stomach rumbled. Cautiously, Ronon lifted the spoon, dipping it in and leaning forward to sniff. It smelled of something he couldn’t quite place, had never smelled before. 

A gentle nudge to his elbow and he noticed the woman leaning closer. She was holding her own spoon and gave him a smile as she rested an elbow on the table. “The little curly things are shrimp from Earth. I’m sure there’s something like it here, but they’re really good. The shredded white meat is chicken. And the little circular things are a spicy sausage called andouille.” 

Ronon lifted his eyes from his bowl, then to her, staring openly. She continued to point out the things that floated in the stew, seeming to know on instinct that he was hesitating. She didn’t even ask why. He’d eaten the wrong thing one too many times not to be cautious, no matter how hungry he was. Her voice was quiet, and the words were obviously meant for his ears only. “And then the green stuff is called okra. It’s a little slimy, but it’s what makes it thick like a stew instead of watery like a soup. Flavor is good though.” 

She drew back and Ronon finally, cautiously took a small bite. The flavors burst on his tongue in a blaze of heat and spice that made his eyes water. That was a lot of pepper. He loved it. The dark spice, even the slimy green shit. He took another bite, this time capturing some of the meat on his spoon. It was even better. Ronon ignored the conversation around him and tucked into the meal like a starving man. His outlook was improving already. Teyla letting him come along was the best thing to happen since he’d arrived on Atlantis. The stew was better than anything he’d had in years, and far exceeding the quality of the food in the cafeteria. 

****

Grace watched as Ronon seemed to deem the gumbo acceptable. In the span of two seconds, he’d gone from cautious to openly appreciative of the food. She heard a soft sound of approval somewhere along the fifth bite as he ate with a gusto that would put any of her cousins to shame. She reached for the glass of beer and took a long pull before tucking into her own meal. “So what do you say, Becque? Wanna do it?” Lorne was saying across the table. 

“Sorry, what?” She’d completely blanked out, watching the Satedan newcomer eat. 

“Dr. Parrish has decided that field work isn’t for him. So I have an opening and I want to know if you’ll finally let me make the recommendation to Dr. Weir to add you to my team. You’d definitely be more useful than a botanist.” Evan’s voice held a note of amusement. 

Grace felt her face heat as she stared across the table at him. “I’m not sure Dr. Weir would approve the request. She hasn’t hired a replacement for Morrow yet.” 

“She has, actually.” Lorne’s tone turned smug now. The only thing missing was the yellow feather hanging out of his mouth. “A Dr. Sedaris. He’ll be arriving next month on the Deadalus. So what do you say?” 

“Can I.. uh.. Can I have a few days to think it over?” Grace stumbled over the words, the butterflies in her stomach now launching full force. “It’s been a while since I was a part of a team.” 

“Hansen told me you were great.” Evan offered her a smile. “But sure. Take your time.” 

Grace’s eyes fell to the newcomer once more. He’d finally seemed to slow down on inhaling the food, now using one of the thick slices of bread to sop up the last of the juices from the bottom of the bowl. She leaned forward to murmur the words softly. “Want some more?” 

His eyes lit on her face and for a moment she read surprise there. He swallowed and then nodded cautiously. Grace reached for his bowl and rose, leaning forward to grasp the ladle, refilling it just as full as she had the first time. She placed it down in front of him once more and gave him a grin. For the first time since she’d met him, the man offered her a tight ghost of a smile. It was as if the idea of smiling were so foreign to him that he didn’t remember how to do it. 

She returned her attention to the conversation and the food both. Though the man beside her didn’t talk, she could tell he was listening from the way his intelligent green eyes settled on whoever was speaking. He ate slowly, working his way through two servings of salad and three bowls of gumbo before he finally placed his spoon down on the table and reached for his beer. There was something fascinating and elegant about the long fingers and the confidence with which each movement was made. 

“I swear the next word out of your mouth had better be beignet, Grace, or I’m going to start crying.” Cole’s hopeful expression was enough to make Grace laugh. 

“Oh! I forgot about those!” Andy’s eyes lit up as he reached over to slap Evan on the shoulder. “Beignets. Tell me there are beignets!” 

Grace rose from her seat and nodded. “There are beignets. I made them earlier, so they’ve been in the oven staying warm. Just need to add the powdered sugar. Sit tight and I’ll be right back.” 

She turned and headed for the kitchen, more relaxed than she’d been in two weeks. Once inside, she pulled the oven open. Inside were the small pieces of fried dough she’d made earlier while the gumbo was simmering. A touch of her fingers and she sent up a quick little prayer of thanks that they were still hot. She turned the oven off and reached for the bag of powdered sugar and the sifter, quickly dusting on the coating of fine sugar. It was a little taste of home in the Pegasus galaxy. That’s what these dinners meant to all of them anyway. Even Teyla’s overly salty tuttle root soup was a welcome addition they all ate and praised, while sneaking a lot of bread and side dishes. 

Grace returned to the table, plate of beignets in hand. She waited as Andy cleared the nearly empty pot of gumbo and headed for the kitchen, then leaned forward and placed the plate down before resuming her seat. Cole was the first to reach for one of them. Andy reappeared a moment later, coffee pot in hand, along with a handful of mugs. “Damn near forgot. Evan brought coffee! Real coffee. Not that instant shit from the dining hall.” 

Grace’s eyes widened. “McKay is the only one on the base with actual coffee. Evan… what did you do?” She knew that McKay had not given up the coffee easily. 

Lorne shrugged. “I told him he was the greatest scientist the Pegasus galaxy had ever seen. And I promised to give him all my green jello for the next month. You’re welcome.” 

She couldn’t resist the laughter that bubbled up. “That’s a steep price. The lime jello is the best.” 

Unexpectedly, beside her, Ronon spoke for the first time since he’d sat down. “I prefer the blue. The green looks too much like snot.” 

Across the table Lorne broke down into laughter that dissolved into outright snorts of glee at the unexpected display of dry humor from their newest addition. 

Grace buried her face in her hands. “That’s so true. It really does look like snot. Like radioactive snot.” 

For the first time since she’d met him, she saw a genuine smile light Ronon Dex’s eyes, as if something inside him had eased with the statement. He reached for one of the beignets, holding it carefully in his fingers as he lifted his other hand and dragged his forefinger through the fine dusting of powdered sugar. He popped the finger into his mouth, and she saw his eyes fluttered closed for a moment before she heard an exhalation so very soft that she almost missed it. His eyes opened, focusing on the pastry before he pushed the entire thing into his mouth at once. 

Grace leaned and reached out to snag the plate, drawing it closer to add four more to his own plate before plopping two on hers and then returning the plate to the center of the table. He glanced at her, his expression questioning for a moment before he lifted one of them and took a more conservative bite. 

Grace accepted the cup of coffee that Andy placed at her elbow with a smile, and then took a bite of her own. She chewed intently, savoring the burst of sweetness that counteracted the spice of the pepper in the gumbo that lingered on her tongue. It had been a good dinner. These things were, sadly, the highlight of her month and damn near the extent of her social life. It was a good life, and however small it was, it was never boring.


	2. To reach silence is a huge effort of voice.

Ronon stood in the center of the room that had been assigned to him. While not as large as the quarters he’d been in before receiving the room assignment, it was not confinement. It was something that was his own, besides the single outfit he owned, the worn pair of boots, and the worn bedroll he’d been carrying for years. 

The bed was the first thing he altered. It was too short, too narrow, and too soft. He’d placed the mattress directly on the floor and broken down the bed frame, placing it out in the hallway, where Meyers had promised to have someone come by to pick it up later. The bed was made with itchy, stiff sheets, and the same kind of blanket he’d used when he was a cadet at the Academy. It was faintly amusing that standard issue military linens were the same no matter where you were in the universe. 

There was a knock at the door, something that startled him. How long had it been since anyone had actually knocked? He spun, moving toward the door, one hand rising toward his gun, only to remember too late he wasn’t wearing it. Protocol was no weapons unless he was on duty. He swiped a hand over the door controls and then stepped aside as Teyla entered. She held an armload of pillows and a traveling pack dangled from her arm. “I thought you might appreciate these.” She shoved the pillows into Ronon’s arms and then stepped back, smiling warmly. “They were left from when my people were on Atlantis last year, before they moved to the mainland and built the settlement. I believe they are more comfortable than the one you have now.” 

Ronon blinked at her, surprised by her thoughtfulness. She was quickly becoming a friend, something he’d not had in so long that he wasn’t even sure anymore how to be a friend, let alone react to having one. “Thank you.” 

He turned toward the bed, crouching to carefully place the pillows down. Deep purples and browns, embroidered with jewel colors. They weren’t his taste, but then he wasn’t sure exactly what his taste was anymore. He tossed the larger pillow aside and arranged the ones Teyla had brought at the head of the bed. It was already looking more inviting. 

When he rose, she was watching him, that same warm smile on her face. She extended the bag to him. “Halling asked me to give you these. They are meant as a thank you for your help with the harvest this weekend.” 

Ronon hesitated to reach for the bag, knowing that though Teyla framed the contents as a trade or a gift, it was actually charity. The idea was humiliating, and for a moment, he frowned. He was… humiliated by this. It was the first time he’d been humiliated in years. A surge of unexpected anger accompanied the realization that the Wraith had even managed to take the most basic human emotion from him that it took an act of kindness toward him to realize that even feeling humiliated now seemed like a luxury. 

Teyla was watching him cautiously. Ronon swallowed back the anger and reached for the bag, letting it dangle from his fingers. “Thank you.” 

She was staring at him openly, her words gentle. “Ronon, you saved Rodney’s life.” Those words were unexpected. The anger roiled through him as he lifted his eyes to her face once more, waiting for her to explain. Teyla was everything warm and human in that moment. “You are not a Runner anymore. You are a member of our team and we take care of our own.” 

There was a moment of silence as what she was saying obliquely began to sink in. Even still, the anger rolled through him. Flashes of things he’d lost began to take hold. The anger was so fast, so deep, that his hand trembled as he fisted it and nodded. “Tell them I said thank you.” 

She gave a nod and then turned to go, slipping out the door and leaving Ronon alone with his thoughts and the tumult of emotion. Everything had been taken from him. Melena. Sateda. His future. Even the possibility of a family all gone with no chance of returning. 

But the Wraith hadn’t stopped there. They’d robbed him of even the most basic human dignity. Reduced him to an animal, half-starved and ready to lash out at anything or anyone that he perceived as a threat. Strike first, kill first. He still flinched inwardly any time that Teyla touched his shoulder, or his arm, as she tended to do. His new friend was a demonstrative person, and he wasn’t. The only language he knew anymore was violence. Fuck. Was this what he was reduced to? Was he always going to be this sub-human thing? 

Ronon tossed the bag down onto the bed and turned for the door. The urge to run was nearly overpowering. He bypassed the transporter and headed for the stairs, taking the two at a time until he reached the base of the central tower, nine levels down. He hadn’t even broken a sweat by the time he emerged out a door at the bottom and headed for one of the bridges that lead to the outer rings of the city. 

He broke into a full on sprint as he passed the first few buildings. Within seconds he was galloping full tilt without knowing where the hell he was going. He was on a damn man made island in the middle of the ocean. There was quite literally, nowhere to run to. Nevertheless, he kept his pace until his muscles were screaming at him. He was rounding the outer edge of one of the grounding stations when he ran smack into another person, tripping over them as they went down. There was a soft sound of surprise and then the person went sprawling on the ground in an untidy heap. Ronon, too accustomed to the unexpected, executed a roll and sprang up to his feet, fists at the ready, only to be met with the sight of a familiar, tiny form pushing itself into a seated position, heel of her palm pressed to her forehead. 

Shit. He’d plowed into one of the only other people on Atlantis who’d actually been nice to him and treated him like he wasn’t an absolutely barbarian. And now, in this moment, he felt like one. He should apologize, should say something. Instead, Becque groaned and gazed around herself, obviously looking for what she’d run into. When her eyes landed on Ronon, he was stunned to see relief filter through her vivid blue eyes. “Oh thank fuck. It’s just you. I thought I ran into a lamp post again.” 

It was the use of the word ‘again’ that made Ronon’s brow draw into a frown of surprise. She rubbed at her forehead, tipping her head to study him carefully. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” 

Ronon simply stared at her before shaking his head slowly. He watched as she breathed out a sigh of relief. “Okay. Good. That’s good.” She pushed herself to her feet, rewarding him with a perfect view of her pert bottom clad in a pair of shorts. Though they were modest by Lantean standards, they still showed enough of the expanse of her bare thigh to catch his attention. It was the second time in less than a week he’d had a reaction to a woman. No. A reaction to this woman in particular. His libido was something that had gone unaddressed for so many years he’d begun to think it was no longer something he needed. Sex wasn’t necessary for survival. But he felt a burgeoning tug in his belly as his eyes skimmed up her form, only to settle on her face. The anger that had been gnawing at him had settled to a dull irritation. 

Ronon rose to his feet as he studied her a bit more closely, still unsure of what to say. The words that came out were not the ones he’d have chosen if he had the time to think it through. “Do you often run face first into lamp posts?” 

Surprise rose to her pretty face, followed by that same light smile. She shook her head, her tone playfully defensive. “Don’t judge me.” 

He caught himself actually wanting to smile back. The anger faded away entirely in the face of that smile. He wasn’t sure how these things worked among her people. He still hadn’t figured out what flirting really was for her people, or how it worked. All he knew was that he liked her sense of humor. Ronon cleared his throat, speaking the words as casually as he could manage. “I’m sorry. I should have been watching where I was going. You’re sure you’re okay?” 

Those blue eyes lifted to his face once more and this time she gave a more reluctant nod, embarrassment turning her cheeks a brilliant scarlet that crept down her neck. “Yeah. I’m fine.” 

He nodded and lapsed into silence. Conversation was not something he was recovering the ability for quickly. He’d simply been too quiet for too long. “I should go.” He finally said quietly. “I have like, four whole things to unpack.” 

Ronon was surprised to see the suddenly brilliant smile light up her face. “Oh! Dr. Weir assigned you quarters! That’s so great!” Becque seemed genuinely pleased for him. It was baffling. It should have annoyed him, that she was so happy about something, every single time he saw her. But it didn’t. Her happiness was genuine, a reminder of innocence that hadn’t existed in his world in a long time. “Well, if there’s anything you need, let me know.” 

Her underneath him, gasping out his name as he fucked her as hard as he was able. The mental image of that coupled with the unexpected force of the wave of want that came with it robbed Ronon of the ability to speak. Fortunately, Becque didn’t seem to notice as she gave a wave and turned to go, jogging onward in the direction she’d been originally heading. 

****

Grace wandered the bookshop she’d found just off the main square. Lorne was a good commander, and also a practical one. Her presence on this mission was nothing more than a test run. A simple drop-off of medical supplies they were trading for some kind of root vegetables. The meeting had gone well enough and Lorne had remained behind to open negotiations for a more permanent, larger trade agreement. He’d dismissed her and Erickson to wander the square. Officially it was to see if there might be anything of interest to Atlantis in their mission. Unofficially, it was to lessen any perceived threat caused by heavily armed, uniformed military personnel. Even Grace had a 9 mil she barely knew how to use strapped to her thigh. 

She’d left Erickson at the bakery next door, where he was doing his best to obliterate their selection of some kind of tarts. The bookstore was tiny, but well-stocked. It spoke well of a planet in Pegasus that they had the time and resources to devote to the written word. It was rare. Most societies were simply trying to survive, but this community was thriving, clearly on the brink of an industrial revolution. 

Grace scanned the shelf in front of her, noting the many various languages she recognized off hand. They had books from many different planets, organized by language and then appearing to be sub-categorized beyond that. It wasn’t until she came to the third shelf back that a front-faced pair of books caught her eye. Rather than the leather bound or heavy paper covers she was accustomed to seeing, these had dust jackets of what looked like linen-based paper. Serene landscape scenes were painted on the front, so detailed the covers were works of art. 

She lifted the first volume carefully, flipping it open. The characters inside were arranged in such a way that it was clearly poetry of some kind, but the language wasn’t one she’d seen before. She lifted her head, glancing toward the counter where an older man stood. “Excuse me?” 

He lifted his head from the book he was reading and offered her a smile. “Yes?” 

Grace headed for the counter, book in hand. She extended it to him, turning it for him to see. “I was hoping you could tell me what language this is? Or even where the book comes from?” 

The man pushed his spectacles up onto his forehead and peered at the book, then smiled. “Ah yes. That is one of only a few volumes from Sateda I got off a trader from Belsa last month. Both this one and the other are written by one of the most highly regarded Satedan poets in the last century, Inshen Var. Unfortunately, he was killed during the siege of the planet.” 

Grace’s heart skipped a beat as she drew the book back and stared down at it. “Sateda?”

The shopkeeper smiled. “Yes. There aren’t many Satedan books left. Their library was one of the most fascinating places I’ve ever been. More than two hundred years of history, literature… all the greats, completely leveled. Are you interested in it?” 

“Yes. Do you have others besides these two?” Grace did her best to keep her expression neutral, even as her heart hammered in her chest. 

The man shook his head regretfully. “No. As I said, there aren’t many left. But if you’d like those, I’ll give you a fair price.” 

Grace grinned happily as she moved to the shelf to retrieve the second volume, placing both down on the counter. “Thank you. I have a friend from Sateda, I think he’ll be excited to see them.” 

The shopkeeper paused where he was depositing a span of thick brown paper, lined in a protective wax on the counter. His eyes shadowed for a moment. Grace watched as his gaze dropped to the books she held. The man’s voice was quiet, almost reverent. “You’re returning them to a Satedan?” 

“I am.” She spoke cautiously now, half-afraid the man was going to refuse to sell them to her for some bizarre reason. 

He placed them down and lifted a knife, swiftly cutting the paper to size. He wrapped them in silence and then tied the little bundle with a soft twine to protect them. “I wish I could afford to simply let you take them.” The man’s words were unexpectedly quiet. He cleared his throat and in the next moment, she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. “I can let you have them for cost though. Fifteen delnaris.” 

Grace frowned toward him. “No. I want to pay the regular price. The gesture is appreciated but I… please allow me to do this right.” 

The man’s eyes fell to the books once more and he repeated his words firmly. “Fifteen delnaris. I won’t take any more. These books belong with a Satedan.”

With trembling fingers, Grace drew out the little leather coin purse and drew out the coins to pay, placing them down on the counter. She quietly bid the man farewell and placed the books into her backpack carefully. The entire transaction had been bittersweet, she suspected for both her and the shopkeeper.

****

“So I just… swipe the card?” Ronon held the small plastic card in his hand. It was black and bore what was apparently the Earth letters for Sheppard’s name. “And it’s like money?” 

Sheppard nodded and reached out to take the card from him, slipping it back into his wallet. “Yours will be delivered soon, just takes a while to get mail. It’s pretty low priority. But all your account stuff is on file with the base purser, so you charge what you need and then they deduct it from your balance.” 

“So I have money, but not… actual money.” It was hard to wrap his brain around as they rounded a corner. Sheppard had been trying to explain it since arriving at his quarters and gesturing toward the hallway, explaining that the base exchange had been restocked and that if he wanted to purchase anything he needed to come now. Ronon had quietly replied that he had no money, only to find Sheppard staring at him like he’d lost his mind. And that was when Ronon found out he’d gotten two paychecks since he’d been on Atlantis. Twice a month. Paid. He had a damn salary. He had a fucking job. He hadn’t even realized he was working for anything other than his room and board. But when Sheppard had released a low whistle when the purser had checked Ronon’s account when they’d stopped by on their way out, Ronon realized he was not only being paid, but being paid well. 

He had no idea what the numbers meant, relative to what he’d made on Sateda, but it was only a little less than Sheppard himself. And so he’d trusted Sheppard himself. He knew the number in the account. He’d memorized it before following Sheppard back out into the hallway and down the corridor to the large room that had been converted into an exchange, much like the base shop on Sateda when he’d first enlisted. 

And so Ronon found himself wandering the room he’d never been in, Sheppard distracted at his side, having pulled rank on the young Marine working behind the counter, since the announcement of the restocking hadn’t taken place yet. He reached for a plastic package with black sleeveless shirts inside it. Undershirts. Ronon tipped the package and counted. Three. He tucked that under his arm and then reached for the massive bag of gray socks. 

Sheppard appeared beside him, tugging at the package beneath his arm. Ronon yielded it with a confused glance. Sheppard shook his head and replaced it, switching it for another one. “You’re gonna need the larger one.” 

At that, Sheppard reached for the socks and plucked those out of his hand too. “Nope. You’re definitely gonna need the larger ones of these too. Annndddd…” Sheppard scanned the shelves and then reached up to grab another package, pushing it at Ronon. “Boxer briefs. Trust me, way better than tighty whities. No binding.” 

“Tighty what?” Ronon stared at the packaging and then understanding dawned. Underwear. He nodded and glanced around the room once more. “Shoes?” 

“Oh! Hey, Mason, did those pants I asked you to get come on this shipment?” Sheppard turned and headed for the table that served as a counter. “And we’re gonna need some boots. Like..Ronon, what size are you? Like.. ten… eleven? Let me start with a ten.” 

Fifteen minutes later, Ronon was outfitted with a pair of practical, heavy dark trousers, and a pair of equally dark boots. Sheppard had looked incredulous as he had tried on two pairs that were too small before finally deeming the final pair acceptable. The boots were easy to slip on and off, snug without being too tight to hide a knife in, and had a tread that had acceptable grip and flex. Civilian boots, though, since the black ones that the military wore just took too damn long to get laced up. Elastic bands for his hair too, an entire package of them. 

Ronon had watched quietly as Sheppard then just started adding shit to the pile, assuring him that he’d need every bit of it. Most of it was practical, but Ronon had learned to do without so many things that he’d forgotten what it felt like to shave without a dry blade against his skin. The crap filled a duffel bag, which he was also apparently buying. By the time Mason pushed a slip of paper across the counter for Ronon to sign, the numbers seemed significant. But then when he did the math in his head, he began to realize that Sheppard had been right. He was earning a damn decent living now. 

He slung the bag over his shoulder and let it rest on his back as he followed Sheppard next door to the commissary. And there, Ronon stopped cold in the doorway. Commissary, he now realized, meant food. All kinds of fucking food. He didn’t try to stop his eyes from widening as he surveyed the garishly colorful packaging. Sheppard called out from the opposite wall. “Stock up, Chewie. We only get this every two months. So if you want to have a decent stockpile, grab it now. They have those chips you liked.” 

Ronon’s head lifted, snapping in Sheppard’s direction at the word. He’d discovered Doritos one night while in Sheppard’s quarters learning first hand what a movie was. Damn good entertainment, that’s what it was. Ronon moved toward the familiar bag and grabbed five of them, then thought better and grabbed two more before moving to where another young Marine stood behind a makeshift table. He turned and headed back, this time taking his time as he explored the selection of snacks. Most of the packaging showed what was inside and Sheppard helped fill in the blanks, shaking his head or nodding when Ronon had grabbed something and held it up. 

In less than half an hour, he’d signed another one of those slips and was hauling another damn bag toward his quarters. Cookies. Chips. A few cans of sausages that had caught his eye and he’d added to his stack even when Sheppard had made a face and warned him against it. As much beer as base policy allowed him to purchase. No way to keep it cold, but warm beer was better than no beer. Ronon had really fucking missed beer. 

Sheppard hadn’t been much help, making an excuse to keep from helping lug the crap back to his room. He’d ungraciously pointed out that it was Ronon’s own fault for buying so much shit. But when Ronon had flipped him off, Sheppard had merely good naturedly returned the gesture and headed in the opposite direction. It was a newly acquired gesture Ronon had learned from Zelenka after watching him do it to McKay when the Canadian wasn’t looking. It was always accompanied by an expression of annoyance and a silent baring of teeth. Ronon had figured it was an expression of frustration, but had discovered the nuanced meaning when he’d done it to McKay himself, in front of his teammate’s place at lunch one day. McKay had been particularly annoying, insulting Ronon’s intelligence one too many times. It was either express himself with his newly learned gesture or punch him in the mouth. McKay had sputtered, choking and spewing bits of his salad out of his mouth. 

Sheppard had dropped his head, his shoulders shaking as he tried to stifle the laughter. Teyla, who knew perfectly well what it meant, had reached out and folded Ronon’s finger down, covering his fist with hers as she hurriedly tried to console McKay that Ronon didn’t mean it.

As he approached his door, Ronon found himself actually smiling at the memory of Rodney going as red as blood as he stalked away from the table, offended. When Sheppard had calmed enough to explain it, Ronon had decided then and there that it was his new favorite gesture. 

Ronon could see the package leaning against his door as soon as he turned the corner. Once there, he leaned to pick it up, glancing around the hall. There was no one there. The package was wrapped in simple brown paper and tied with twine, with a note stuck to the front. The only problem was that Ronon couldn’t read it. He’d learned what the curving letters of English looked like and had learned basic words, but only the most basic. Sight words, Teyla had called them when she’d begun working with him. 

He entered his room and lowered the bags to the floor beside the bed, turning the package over in his grasp. He plucked the note out and tucked it into his pocket and then tugged at the twine. It gave way and the paper loosened. What he saw inside made his heart stop for a second. There, in front of his eyes for the first time in seven years, were Satedan letters. Two books. Ronon drew the second one out. Both by the same author, Inshen Var, one of the most famous poets of Sateda, also known as one of the greatest supporters of the arts. Ronon could still remember the time he’d been lucky enough to have his number drawn in the lottery to attend one of the man’s classes when he’d been in the Academy and Var had been a guest lecturer. 

Tears stung at Ronon’s eyes as he dropped the paper to the ground and held the books. The top one, Sing of Blood and Battle, was his most famous work. The second, Sing of Bone and Bliss, was a lesser known companion that had been released only weeks before the Wraith had attacked. Ronon had seen it in a bookshop window, but hadn’t had the chance to purchase it yet. 

He glanced toward the books, his hands shaking as stacked them neatly together and opened the first one. He didn’t read so much as he drank in the words. It was a relief to see his native tongue printed once more. He’d been afraid he’d forget how to read it. Ronon drew in a deep breath and released it in a shaky exhalation. Who would have known enough to identify the language? No one here, not even Teyla, knew how to read and write Satedan. Ronon had learned nearly a dozen languages in the course of his studies, a necessity for his missions with his unit. But this… it was entirely foreign to anyone here, anyone but him. 

Ronon set the books down, his fingers lingering on the hand-painted dust cover. The note was crumpled when he pulled it from his pocket. He smoothed it out and stared at it. The letters were easy enough, but together, they formed sounds he was still learning. Ronon turned on his heel and left his room, heading straight for Teyla’s quarters a few doors down. 

He knocked twice, and was rewarded when the door slid open. He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and thrust the note at her. Teyla gave him a puzzled frown as she accepted it and stared at him in question. “Ronon? Are you all right?” 

Ronon gestured to the note, folding his arms over his chest. “I need to know what that says.”

Teyla dutifully lowered her eyes, scanning the note before she read it aloud. “I came across these at a small shop when I was off-world. I thought you might like to have them. Best, Grace Becque.” Telya lowered the note, extending it back to him. “I don’t understand. Was there something with the note? A gift?” 

He accepted the note, his eyes lowering to the neat script, scanning it. Becque. He barely knew the woman, he could count on one hand how many times they’d spoken. Four. Exactly four. And yet she’d done something extraordinarily thoughtful. “Satedan books.” Ronon leveled a gaze at Teyla, his brows lifting as he shook his head slowly. “Two of them. Poetry.” 

His friend glanced at the note that was still in his hand. Ronon folded it carefully and tucked it into his pocket. Teyla tipped her head curiously. “Are you not pleased?” 

He was pleased. He was more than pleased. He was… joyful. It had been so long since he’d felt even a shadow of joy that he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that. “Do you know where her quarters are?” 

Teyla gave a nod, unperturbed that he’d avoided the question, and then gestured toward the hall. “Up two levels. Room 704.”

Without another word, Ronon left Teyla’s room and headed straight for the stairs. 

It turned out her room wasn’t hard to find. Up two levels and just a few doors down, he saw the digits, just as Teyla had promised. Ronon had no idea what he was going to say when she opened the door, if she was even there. Thank her? Demand to know what she wanted in return? Ronon was simply not equipped to deal with this kind of thing. He rapped twice before hearing a soft voice call out the words. “It’s open.” 

He waved his hand over the door controls and it slid open. The room was just as small as his own. Becque sat on the floor, leaning against the foot of her bed, fingers flying over her laptop keyboard, a pair of glasses perched on her nose. Open books lay on the floor around, seemingly in chaos, but it was the only chaotic part of the room. The rest of the space was neatly kept. From the bed with it’s gray fuzzy blanket and pile of pillows that Ronon envied, to a framed painting of a vase of bright red flowers that hung over her bed. There were distinctly feminine touches and the entire room smelled… really good, something light and floral that he couldn’t place his finger on. 

Becque lifted her head, blinking owlishly at him. She closed the laptop and set it aside, scrambling to her feet as she stared at him, blue eyes made even larger behind the glasses. “Ronon. Hi.” She clearly didn’t expect to see him. She was only half-dressed, at least by his standards. Denim shorts and a tank top, that was it. 

Ronon could only stare for a moment. Her shoulders were bare once more, except for the thin straps of the pale blue shirt. The soft knit cloth skimmed supple curves, showing off the delicate form to a distracting degree. Ronon’s case wasn’t helped at all by the expanse of smooth, bare legs. He tore his gaze from her legs and lifted them back to her face. Only when his gaze landed on her lips did he realize that he was feeling that tug of attraction again. It was unexpected and startling. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt it, but it was the force of it that surprised him. He wanted this woman beneath him. 

He cleared his throat and tucked his fists into his pockets. “I found the books you left.” 

Lush full lips curved upward into a pleased smile. “I’m so glad. I hope you like them. I asked the shop keeper if he had others, but he didn’t. Those were the only ones he’d had in years. And so, of course when he told me where they were from, I immediately thought of you. So I… uh.. I’m babbling. Sorry.” She trailed off into silence. 

Ronon shook his head slightly. “Why?” 

Becque appeared instantly confused. “Because… I just thought… if it were me. I mean, if I were in your position, where everything was gone, then… something tangible that wasn’t wrecked would…” She bit her lower lip and then tried again, worried entering her eyes. “I saw the MALP images of Sateda a while ago, and then when McKay sent a drone through, I began to realize the full extent of what happened… and well… I’m so sorry if I overstepped.” 

His chest tightened as he began to understand. She’d done it out of compassion. It was not the first time she’d shown him kindness when he had done nothing to deserve it. Ronon nodded and drew in a steadying breath. “Thank you.” 

This time, she was quiet as she lowered her eyes to the floor. “You’re welcome. I’ll keep an eye out for others, if you want.” 

Ronon watched her for a moment longer, still unsure of why she was being nice to him. Was there a reason? Or had he simply been on his own so long that he’d forgotten what it was like? He took a step back. “I should go. Goodnight, Becque.” 

Blue eyes flicked up to his face as she gave a nod. “Good night, Ronon.”


	3. Noise creates illusions

Two weeks later, Grace entered the room the little group had commandeered for their monthly suppers, braced for the usual round of Teyla’s attempt at cooking. She was the first to arrive, finding Teyla in front of the stove, wooden spoon in hand as she stirred something damn near unidentifiable. Ronon leaned against the counter, his expression unreadable as he stared at the large skillet. He lifted his eyes when Grace entered, and surprisingly was the first to speak. “Teyla’s making churnot.” Though his voice was neutral, Grace saw a flash of doubt in his eyes. 

He folded his arms over his chest as he turned his eyes back to the skillet. Teyla gave Grace a warm smile. “He means I am making seared churnot with aga mushrooms, tava beans, and Islanese peppers. It’s a traditional Athosian dish.” 

Oh shit. Another traditional Athosian dish. Grace immediately plastered on an enthusiastic smile and tried to find something good to say. It was well known that Teyla couldn’t cook for shit. Every time it was her turn, it was a new adventure in diplomacy. “That sounds great.” And it did sound great. She was sure it was great… when prepared by someone who possessed actual taste buds. 

Ronon’s expression turned openly skeptical when Teyla’s eyes met Grace’s, pleased by the open-mindedness. “I am sure it will be better than my last attempt.” 

Grace stepped forward and placed the bottle of bourbon she’d brought onto the counter. It was an unspoken agreement among the other attendees. When it was Teyla’s turn, everyone brought strong liquor. And when it was Andy’s turn, someone always brought milk. The sound of the door sliding open once more and Lorne’s voice drifted in, good-naturedly calling out the words. “I smell Teyla’s cooking!” 

Teyla smiled. If there was one thing Grace admired about the other woman, it was her tenacity. She never gave up, even after turning out disaster after disaster in the kitchen. She kept trying. Teyla yielded the wooden spoon to Ronon, smiling at him. “Will you stir this for a second? I need to speak to Major Lorne before we sit down to dinner.” 

Ronon silently accepted the spoon, his eyes tracking Teyla as she headed out of the kitchen. The second she disappeared, he dropped the spoon and reached out, scooping up no fewer than four containers of spices. Grace watched in amusement as he shoved two at her. “Take it! Take it!” He hissed the words quietly and she accepted the small jars of something that was clearly some kind of pepper. 

Grace turned toward the sink and pulled the door open, quietly slipping the jars behind the dish soap. When she straightened, she saw Ronon reaching into the cold oven. Inside, she caught sight of three more jars he’d already stashed in there, in addition to the two he slipped inside now. Grace raised a hand, snorting quietly to keep from laughing aloud as he rose to his full height and closed the oven door. 

He lifted the spoon and started to stir again, green eyes darted to the doorway where Lorne and Teyla’s voices were still quietly conversing. Something like relief appeared in his eyes for a second as he leaned his head to murmur the words quietly as if in apology. “I tried to stop her.” 

Teyla appeared a moment later, heading for the stove. She took the spoon from Ronon with a pat to his shoulders. “I think it’s ready. Dr. Cole and Andy will be here -” 

The door slid open again and the two stragglers entered. Grace glanced toward them. Each was as cool as a cucumber, showing no outward sign of apprehension. Andy held up a small glass container, corked and bearing a handwritten label in beautiful calligraphy. “We brought Otpep! I thought maybe we could have a little pre-dinner toast if Teyla doesn’t mind? My contribution to tonight's dinner.” 

Grace’s eyes widened for a moment as she stared toward Andy. The man was nothing short of brilliant. She pressed her lips into a thin line, somehow managing to keep a straight face as Lorne moved forward, taking the bottle from him and studying the thick pink liquid within. Evan’s voice was appropriately awestruck as he lifted his eyes from the bottle to Andy. “Where the hell did you find this, man? I can’t believe it!” 

Cole kept a perfectly straight face as well as she produced a small stack of plastic shot glasses. “I found it, actually. You know how I go to P3X-472 once a month to deliver medical supplies to their clinic?” 

Lorne nodded toward her. “Yeah. That’s the planet where we get the potato-ey things.” 

Cindy grinned. “Yep. I found this in a stall in their marketplace. I couldn’t pass up the chance for us to have it.” 

“Teyla, you don’t mind, do you?” Evan’s voice carried a slight plea, as if the contents of the container were indeed, a rare treat. Damn, Evan was a good liar. 

Grace pushed a stack of places at Ronon as she realized she needed to loop him in and fast. She lifted the flatware and napkins and spoke clearly. “Ronon, come and help me set the table while the others get the sides and drinks set up.” 

She heard Teyla answering that she didn’t mind at all as she led the way toward the dining room. She set the napkins down, glancing back toward the kitchen before she deemed it safe to move toward the large man’s side. She touched his arm lightly. “Don’t speak, just listen. Drink the pink stuff. It’ll help your stomach.” 

Ronon lifted his head, frowning at her, as if not understanding. His hand hovered there, one plate in hand as he glanced toward the kitchen. Grace shook her head, clarifying with a single word hissed in his direction just as Teyla appeared around the corner, carrying the skillet. “Medicine.” 

****

Ronon realized what Becque meant the second the small shot glass filled with the thick pink liquid was placed in front of him. Across the table, Andy Garrett rose to his feet and lifted his own tiny cup, saluting Teyla with an absolutely straight face. “To Teyla and her unceasing efforts to help us learn more about the cultures and foods of the peoples of Pegasus.” 

A round of affirmations echoed around the table, before every person there, himself included tipped the little cups up and drank the contents. It even tasted like medicine, without a hint of alcohol. Teyla tipped her head, obviously trying to be polite, but not understanding the significance of the pink liquid. She rose from her seat and gestured to the dishes in the middle of the table, describing the origin of each one, and taking a moment to acknowledge the contributions of the people around the table. Ronon had noticed it the first night, but he now understood it was a tradition. 

Several minutes later, he had the seared chornut dish in front of him, steamed vegetables he only vaguely recognized, and a thick slice of some kind of bread baked from tava beans. Ronon was only now beginning to understand how much the Athosians loved fucking tava beans. He lifted his fork and stared at the seared meat, that wasn’t so much seared as it was charred beyond recognition. 

To his right, Becque was carefully attempting to slice the meat into smaller pieces with her knife, but wasn’t even making a dent. Across the table, he heard a soft tapping sound. When his eyes settled on the source, it was Lorne, with a piece of the meat stabbed onto his fork and testing it out with a series of light taps on his plate. 

It was the metallic ting of something landing on his plate that made Ronon’s eyes flick back to it. There, in the middle of the steamed vegetables, lay the blade of a knife, snapped in half. Beside him, Becque released a soft “Oh my.” Her eyes were on the knife and sure enough, in her hand, was what remained. Ronon calmly plucked the blade from his food and slid it beneath the plate without ever taking his eyes off Teyla. 

Bravely, Cole slipped a bite of the meat into her mouth and bit down with an audible crunch. She smiled politely around it even as Ronon saw her eyes begin to water. “Wow.” She reached for her wine glass and downed half of it in one go. Teyla’s gaze landed on the woman curiously. Cole blinked away tears and smiled again. “It’s so flavorful, Teyla.” 

To his right, he heard Becque choke a little, and then the sound of audible swallowing. When he looked over, Becque was bright red. She too, smiled encouragingly. “Teyla, you never fail to surprise.” 

What the actual fuck was happening here? Even Lorne was shoveling huge bites into his mouth as if he couldn’t get enough, speaking around the food in uncharacteristic defiance of the manners this group seemed to prize so highly. “You remembered how much I love spicy food. That’s so thoughtful, Teyla. Thank you.” 

To his left, Teyla was beaming. Ronon pushed a bite into his mouth and instantly regretted it. It was as if his entire mouth was subjected to instant chemical burns. He’d done his level best to hide the pepper, but she’d just kept adding more. Ronon closed his eyes and then understood why everyone around him seemed to be wolfing it down. This was not an experience he wanted to extend. He felt multiple sets of eyes on him, and when he opened his eyes, everyone was staring at him, those smiles fixed into place, radiant and for all outward purposes, joyful. 

It was only when Teyla’s hopeful gaze fixed on him that he realized the full scale of what everyone at the table was doing. They were sparing his friend’s feelings. It was self-sacrifice to the greatest degree, an act of honor. Ronon smiled broadly and groped for something positive to say, anything at all. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever tasted.” And it was the truth. There was nothing that came quite close to the burning of his throat and his eyes. 

He pushed another large bite in his mouth and was rewarded with a grin from Teyla. Surely the jig would be up when Teyla tasted her own food. Certainly his friend would get it then. But no. The Athosian woman took a dainty bite and then grinned happily. “I believe it is the best thing I have made yet.” 

“Definitely.” Becque spoke up, her soft voice bearing a trace of strain. “Out of curiosity, are those ghost peppers?” The polite inquiry was punctuated by another large bite being pushed into her mouth. Ronon heard the crunch as the woman began to chew, saw the sheen of tears as her eyes watered. 

Teyla grinned. “Yes. Dr. Parrish assures me they are appropriate for consumption when used in moderation. So I made certain only to use one pepper per person in the recipe.” 

That was when Ronon realized that despite his stomach burning, and his throat searing, he could no longer feel his tongue. It was both equal parts a relief and disturbing. Ronon hadn’t cried in seven years, but he felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He pushed another bite of food into his mouth as Becque spoke again, a wheezing quality entering her voice. “Well, that was just so nice of Dr. Parrish to help you. And a lot of effort to go to, Teyla. Really, you shouldn’t have.” 

On Becque’s other side, Garrett was sniffling, his face buried in his napkin. Ronon swallowed another bite whole, thanking whatever gods really existed that he was nearly finished. Teyla cocked her head toward Garrett. “Andy? Are you all right?” 

To his credit, Garrett nodded emphatically, his voice laden with sincerity. “I’m just having some feelings right now.” 

Becque reached out and rubbed the man’s back in a friendly way, fixing Teyla with a firm smile. “I think what Andy means is that it’s always so moving when you try to marry flavors from our culture and yours. The results are always astonishing.” Her voice actually broke on that last word and Ronon could see the sweat on the back of the woman’s neck. 

How in the fuck were they keeping this up? Ronon pushed the last bite of food into his mouth and swallowed it whole, then stared in horror as Teyla reached for the serving spoon. “Would you like some more, Ronon?” 

Becque’s gaze landed on him in warning that refusal would be seen as treasonous. And so Ronon smiled and nodded even as his lips began to go numb too. It was the most agonizing meal of his life. By the time dessert rolled around, even Becque was looking like a tomato. She’d discovered the hard way just why Ronon had been hiding the pepper. Teyla had added the damn things to every dish. Even the tava bean bread was like shoving a flaming hot poker into his tongue. 

Surely dessert, which was supposed to be sweet couldn’t be hot. As Teyla disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve the chocolate cake, he heard Lorne’s voice coming across the table. “Oh holy shit. Who told her about ghost pepper?”

Becque’s head dropped, her voice quiet. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know she would find a way to get some.” 

“Hand me the pepto.” Garrett hissed toward Lorne, who passed him the bottle. The blonde man tipped it up and drained the remaining contents, sliding the cork back into place just as Teyla appeared with dessert. 

The cake was actually quite pretty, with its dark brown frosting. She placed it down in the center of the table and lifted the knife to cut it as she spoke. “Mayan chocolate cake. I am told the combination of heat and sweetness brings out the flavor of the chocolate.” 

Ronon watched as Becque’s eyes widened and he heard a little whimper. It was not a sound of anticipation, but one of dread. “Mayan chocolate cake?” He questioned quietly. 

Cole was the one to answer, her voice thin, as if she were bracing herself for something. “Yes. It’s a kind of chocolate recipe that’s made with cayenne.” 

Lorne was staring at the cake, his mouth open. “You know, I’m really full. I think I’m gonna have to pass, Teyla. But maybe I could have a couple of slices to take with me.” 

Garrett nodded emphatically. “Shit, Teyla. Did you forget I’m allergic to chocolate?” 

Teyla nodded toward Lorne and then glanced to Garrett. “Oh, Andy. I am sorry. I did forget.” Her gaze moved to Cole then. “But I did remember your egg allergy, Dr. Cole. I made sure this is an egg free recipe this time.” 

Cole closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again, smiling broadly. “Great.” 

Becque spoke up quietly. “I can’t wait to taste it.” Her voice quaked and in that instant, Ronon realized she was taking one for the team. Teyla delivered a slice to him, indicating he should pass it to Becque. Becque braced an elbow on the table, her eyes closed and head bowed. Ronon could see her trying to work up the courage to take a bite. 

How bad could it be? Ronon realized two seconds after he’d put the bite into his mouth that he was wrong. He was so very wrong. This time it was the roof of his mouth that burned. He opened his lips and drew in a breath in an attempt to cool it. “More pepper.” He stated bluntly around the food in his mouth. How the hell did someone ruin the sanctity of chocolate, which was one of his new favorite things? “Wow.” 

Cole’s hands shook as she lifted her fork to her mouth and she pushed the bite in quickly as if she were facing a firing squad. She choked instantly. “Whoa. Teyla. That’s… indescribable.” She wheezed the words out between coughs. 

Becque was still staring at the cake even as Ronon breathed through his mouth and fought back tears for the third time since the meal had started. In the end, Ronon watched as she drew in a deep breath and took a huge bite onto her fork, then popped it into her mouth. Her pretty face was red again as he watched her work the thick frosting around on her tongue. When she finally managed to swallow, she breathed out the words softly. “Oh Teyla. You have really outdone yourself.” 

It was a miracle that they made it through the meal without anyone managing to slip up. But despite them being in pain, even Lorne was still sweating profusely and Garret was quietly crying like a schoolboy. When the meal was over, Ronon slipped out toward the hallway, waiting for Teyla to finish her goodbyes. To his surprise, Garrett stepped out from the kitchen where he’d been washing dishes and hissed the words at him quietly. “Hey. Ronon.” 

Ronon paused, turning back to the other man, whose face was still mottled red. Garrett glanced in the direction of the dining room before he spoke more softly. “Becque’s quarters, you know where they are?” At Ronon’s nod, the other man continued. “Good. Be there in fifteen minutes.” 

Fifteen minutes later, after dutifully walking Teyla to her quarters, Ronon knocked lightly on the door to Becque’s quarters. At the muffled invitation to enter, Ronon waved a hand over the control panel. He pulled up short at the sight of Becque and Lorne seated on the floor side by side on the floor. Lorne was chewing a slice of bread from an open bag in his lap, his eyes closed with a pained expression on his face. Becque sat on the bed, bare feet tucked under her. Behind Ronon, the door slid open and Cole entered. “Okay. I got maalox, pepto, alka-seltzer, tums, and milk. Andy, did you bring cups?” 

“Oh thank God.” Garrett moaned, his head making a thunking sound as he let it drop back against the wall behind him. “Cups are on the desk. Cole, I will never mock you for your stockpiling again.” 

Becque gestured to Ronon and patted the bed beside her. He closed the distance and took a seat on the edge, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees to take some of the pressure off his aching stomach. A few seconds later, Becque’s fingers brushed his elbow. The gentle contact made goosebumps rise over Ronon’s body. She held out a glass of milk and murmured the words to him. “Hold out your hand.” Ronon did, without hesitation, watching as she shook out a few large round tablets into his hand. The instructions were soft. “Chew those, and drink the milk. All of it.” 

Ronon popped the tablets in his mouth and chewed. They were chalky and dry, but washed down with the milk, it was at least a blissfully bland taste. Lorne was the first to speak as he lowered the glass of milk and reached for another slice of bread. “Guys, we need a new plan.” 

“We need to tell her!” Garrett spoke up emphatically. “I love Teyla. We all love Teyla, but we can’t keep this up, guys. It gets worse every time.” 

Cole had taken up residence leaning against the nightstand. “The last time we tried to tell her, she wanted to quit coming because we embarrassed her.” Cole said miserably, clutching a blue medicine bottle in one hand and a plastic cup filled with milk in the other. 

Lorne shook his head. “No. We aren’t telling her. We can do this. It’s only once every couple of months. We just need a new plan on how to handle it. I dunno. Maybe ‘forget’ to put her on the rotation again next time.” 

Ronon was oddly touched that they’d invited him to this bizarre little problem solving session. He tipped up the cup and drained the last of the milk only to find that Becque had leaned forward, and lifted the jug. She refilled it for him and then added more to her own before she passed it to Garrett, breaking her silence for the first time. “Y’all, Evan’s right. We need a new plan. My stomach can’t take much more of this.” 

“Well, there is a bright spot.” Lorne sighed heavily and reached to pluck the blue bottle from Cole’s fingers, tipping it up and taking a pull as if it were liquor. 

“Oh yeah?” Garrett asked, his expression hopeful. 

Lorne nodded. “Ronon’s turn is next. Ronon, can you tell the difference between salt and sugar?” 

“Uh. Yeah.” Ronon answered, frowning faintly. “Can’t everyone?” 

Cole shook her head. “No. No they can’t.” With that the woman reached into the bag and pulled out a slice of bread without further explanation. 

Becque groaned softly. “You had to bring that up again?” Ronon’s gaze settled on the small woman beside him. When her eyes met his, she sighed heavily. “The first time Teyla joined us, she was still learning to read English lettering. She mixed up the salt and sugar when making dessert. The real problem was that she was trying to make sugar cookies. Then she got some of the digits on the oven switched around by accident and we ended up with tiny salty bricks.” 

Garrett nodded. “Mm. I broke a tooth.” 

Ronon grimaced. “Why do you let her cook if it’s always this bad?” 

There was silence for a moment before Becque finally answered. “Because it’s not about the food.” At Ronon’s confused glance, she continued. “It’s about … I dunno… remembering what we’re fighting for.” 

He licked his lips and then frowned again. “I don’t get it.” 

Lorne was the one to answer that time. “I wasn’t on the first crew to arrive on Atlantis, but Grace and Cole were. When they left Earth, they came through the gate not knowing if they were ever going to get back home.” 

Cole actually smiled, her voice rueful. “It started as a way to have a real meal that wasn’t made in the messhall. But then it became more about the conversation and the act of sharing a meal, like with family. And that’s what we fight for. It reminds us that when we, well… you guys” Cole gestured between the other four in the room, “go out into the field, we’re fighting for what really matters. Families like our own. Even if it’s just a make-shift family we see for dinner once in a while.” 

Lorne rose to his feet. “You guys be thinking of solutions. We’ll talk next week. Goodnight, guys.” 

Ronon watched as the rest rose, each of them grabbing something to carry. He rose as well, the pain in his stomach having calmed considerably. As the door slid closed behind Garrett, leaving him alone in the room with Becque, Ronon turned to regard her quietly. She stood there, this time in a gauzy cream colored tunic that fell just below her knees, gathered just below the bustline. Ronon’s fingers itched to reach out and touch the fabric, to see if it was as soft as it looked. Instead of doing so, Ronon merely offered her a half-smile. “Goodnight, Becque.”


	4. Silence brings truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - This chapter is a continuation of the previous scene. It was really long, clocking in somewhere around 8700 words, so I broke it up into two parts. 
> 
> Also, this has been sitting on my PC for the better part of a year and it's about 83,000 words now, but when finished will be in the ballpark of about 120k - 130k. 
> 
> Don't worry. This story will not be an orphan!

She knew in her gut that she should let him go, and quietly stay away as she waited for the butterflies to subside as she did everytime this man spoke to her. But Grace found herself slipping her feet into her shoes and uttering the words softly. “I was actually going to go to the messhall kitchen and see if I could find something to eat. I heard there were bananas in the food shipment. Want to come?” 

He stared at her for a moment, his expression utterly blocked off. His eyes flicked away from her face for a moment and she heard the hesitation in his voice. “Isn’t that off-limits this time of night?” 

“Technically.” She drew the word out. She rarely broke the rules, but once in a while, the lure of fresh fruit from home, which they only got once every two months, was too much of a temptation. “But bananas are delicious.” 

She saw a flicker of something in his eyes, something like amusement. “Okay. But you know that if we get caught, you’ll be the only one to get in trouble, right? I can just say I had no idea of the policy.” 

The rare glimpse of humor made her actually grin. “Then you have nothing to lose but the chance to try a banana. It’s delicious.” 

She moved past him with a confidence she didn’t feel. Instead, all she felt was the fear that she was going to make a fool of herself in front of him again, as she had when they’d last talked the night she’d left the books at his door. Grace’s face burned at the memory of how she’d babbled before he had awkwardly thanked her and then left her alone in her room, kicking herself. 

Neither of them spoke as they entered the transporter and Ronon reached out to tap the icon for the mess hall level. They encountered no one on duty, but then it was barely past nine when she turned down the back hallway to where the service door to the kitchen was. It turned out that it wasn’t so much breaking and entering as it was simply ignoring the sign posted on the unlocked door that limited the kitchen access to anyone but the mess hall staff. It wasn’t even locked. 

Grace waved a hand over the light control and gaze around the pristinely clean room. Carts of canned goods were pushed into a corner, waiting to be unloaded, and bins of vegetables stood at the ready, stacked and sorted but not yet put away. No fruit in sight. She headed for the walk-in fridge and pulled it open, stepping inside. Ronon trailed a few steps behind her, gazing toward the carts of food. “What does it look like?” 

“It’s umm. Yellow, about yay big around, kinda long and curves a little.” Grace held her hand up, demonstrating the size she was talking about and Ronon gave a nod, stepping into the fridge beside her. He began to pull out bins she couldn’t reach, peering into them as she searched the lower shelves.

“Is this it?” He said suddenly, and Grace turned to find him holding a yellow squash. 

She shook her head and then continued the search. In the process, she identified for Ronon every single yellow food in the room even vaguely resembling a banana. Lemons, squash, pears, grapefruit, even fucking starfruit. Disappointment began to creep in as she led him back out into the kitchen. Her eyes lit on the room that was used as a pantry, barely more than broom closet really. She stepped toward it and waved a hand over the door controls. It slid open and she realized why the carts were still outside. The pantry was already fully stocked. She stepped inside, gesturing to the left, speaking quietly to her partner in crime. “You take the top, I’ll take the bottom?” 

“Okay.” He said quietly as he began to push boxes and cans out the way, quickly sorting through them for anything yellow. In the tiny space, she could feel even his movements beside her as she crouched beside him. The man was massive, and unmistakably beautiful. 

The sound of the movement stopped and then his deep voice came once more from above her head. “What about these?” 

As she looked up, dangling from his fingers above her head were a perfect, beautiful, bunch of bananas. She rose to her feet with a grin and reached for them. “You are my hero.” 

A hint of a smile played at his lips as he extended them to her. She broke one off and set the rest on the shelf beside her, on top of an industrial sized can of green beans. She pressed it gently. It hadn’t yet begun to get it’s spots, but was still ripe enough to eat. Ronon’s eyes were focused on it as she peeled it and then lifted it to her lips. At the first taste of the familiar fruit, Grace’s eyes closed and she gave a small sound of satisfaction. After the meal that was so hot she was in danger of losing her sense of taste, it was a creamy kind of sweetness that soothed. When she opened her eyes, Ronon was staring at her, his expression unreadable, eyes locked to the banana. One impulse, she lifted it and offered him a bite. She watched as he bowed his head and sniffed it before parting his lips and taking a bite. 

Grace watched as he processed the taste and then his eyes fluttered closed and he gave a nod as he chewed. It was that same look of appreciation that he gave every time he found a new food he liked. Ronon Dex looked at food like other men looked at women, with appreciation and something akin to greed. Cindy had explained it once over lunch as a natural response to so long deprived of proper nourishment, that eventually his reactions to food and the fear it would suddenly be gone would fade away. All Grace knew was that it was a small glimpse into the way the man’s mind worked. Usually his expression was too stoic for her to make heads or tales of it. 

She began to retract her hand to take another bite herself, when his fingers wrapped around her wrist, and he took another bite before releasing it. In the next moment, his head snapped up, as if hearing something she didn’t. Without a word, he reached out and swept a hand over the door controls from the inside and hooked a hand around the back of her neck and tugged her toward the small opening between the shelves. 

****

Ronon didn’t wait for the doors to close all the way before he was wordlessly hauling Becque with him toward the part of the pantry that was cast in the deepest of shadow. To her credit, she went without so much as making a sound. He heard the snick of the door closing just before the outside door that led to the hallway slid open and the footsteps he’d heard were accompanied by voices. “Wasn’t this light off an hour ago?” The woman’s voice sounded confused. 

Ronon could barely make out Becque’s little form in front of him as he drew her closer, tucking them in the tiny space between the metal shelves that held still more canned goods and a stack of boxes that were taller than he was. He could hear a second voice, muffled and coming closer. A man this time, a voice he recognized as Meyers, one of the men who’d been in charge of guarding him during his first days in the city. “Yeah, it was.” 

There was a rustle of movement from in front of him and he saw Becque eating the last bite of her banana. Finding the damn thing would have been a lot easier if she’d just told him point blank that the fruit strongly resembled an erect dick. He’d been stunned into silence as he watched her peel it and then part those plump lips and take the first bite. Her eyes had closed and she’d released a soft, breathy moan of pleasure that was at once innocent and greedy. Ronon’s cock had hardened instantly. The fruit was as good as she’d promised, but seeing her eating it was some new form of torment. 

The rustling sound came again and Ronon lifted a hand, pressing it to her mouth gently as he bowed his head, listening to the voices that came closer, the woman apparently speaking into a radio. “Chuck, this is Kramer. How many lifesigns are on this level?” 

Shit. Ronon had completely forgotten about that. He stiffened, eyes darting toward the door. The man’s voice came again, closer to the door this time. “Seventeen? Why so many?” 

Silence for another moment and then the sound of the door sliding open. Becque froze, her little body stiffening. Ronon stepped forward, pushing her another step back, until she was against the wall as he tipped his head to peek through a narrow slit in the boxes. A flashlight shone on the wall over their heads and Ronon reacted on gut instinct. He slid an arm around Becque’s neck and pulled her against him as he dropped into a crouch. He reached out with one hand braced against the wall. Her lips were curved into a smile against his hand and her shoulders were shaking with barely stifled laughter. Ronon shot her a warning glance in the darkness and he saw the flashlight make another slow pass over the pantry. 

He didn’t breathe until he heard the voice come again, closer this time, a voice that was threaded with amusement. “Really, Chuck? Why are we even patrolling this level if there’s gonna be some kind of a big meeting in the science lab? That lifesigns detector is useless.” The man’s voice held a note of frustration as the flashlight clicked off and the door slid closed. Slowly, Ronon released Becque, rising to his feet. A moment later, he heard the sound of something hitting the door, then the same soft intimate sound of giggling he’d once had the privilege of hearing every night. 

Ronon’s eyes widened as he heard the distinct sound of soft moans. He dropped his head scrubbing a hand over his eyes as he realized just what Kramer and Meyers were up to. Becque breathed out the words. “Oh my God. Are they-” 

He lifted a hand, pressing a finger to her lips, then dropped his head to whisper the word as softly as he could into her ear. “Quiet.” 

Her response was an instant nod of obedience. That one gesture was enough to threaten Ronon’s control. For the first time, he realized just what kind of a position they were in. Meyers and Kramer were frantically kissing only a few feet away, and Ronon could make out the sound of fabric rustling, a zipper dropping and then a soft, feminine moan. Well fuck. They weren’t on the other side of the door. They were inside the goddamn pantry. Ronon exhaled slowly as he pressed his palm to Becque’s lips once more. He lifted his other hand just enough to point toward the door, trying to make her understand why he hadn’t moved yet. 

Becque’s brows flew up and she nodded just as the sound of a soft sigh came from what had to be Kramer, followed by murmured words that Ronon was grateful he couldn’t make out. Becque was now utterly sober, all traces of laughter gone. Ronon bowed his head as he closed his eyes. She was so damn close. Her lips pressed into a thin line beneath his palm, her little frame beginning to tremble against him. 

The sound of a deep groan, followed by the moaned words that Ronon couldn’t even pretend he didn’t hear drifted toward them. “Fuck, Eric. You’re so big.” 

Becque’s eyes were wide now as she realized that it was not just a quick grope in the closet. In the next moment, the distinct sound of skin on skin filled the air. Ronon dropped his head, silently praying to the ancestors that he wasn’t sure he still believed in that it would be over quickly. Becque’s trembling intensified and he heard a small whimper from her. As he lifted his eyes to her face, he heard it again. It was so soft that it was barely a sound, more a vibration against his hand. Ronon’s cock, which had begun to flag, hardened instantly at the sound. He needed to get away from her, but he had no way of orienting himself in the near pitch-black room, could barely make out more than Becque’s face. If he moved, he risked making a sound too loud, and if he remained as he was, she was going to discover his problem with one wrong move. 

The moans only grew in intensity, but that was not the reason Ronon ached. Becque’s breath played over his hand, and her little body was shaking. It wasn’t the reason he wanted her to shake, not from fear. He had to do something to calm her before she made an even louder sound. Ronon quietly shifted in place, leaning his upper body in until his elbow was braced on the wall where his hand had been. He leaned his head, tipping it to the side. He realized then that she’d seen everything so far. That’s why her eyes were wider than they should be, why her entire little frame was shaking. 

Ronon turned his head to face her once more, speaking out so quietly it wasn’t even a whisper, just a breath that formed words. “Don’t look.” 

Almost immediately, the shaking began to lesson. He drew his hand from her mouth, his fingers dragging over her lips as he slid it to brace on the wall on the other side of her, locking her little body into a cage of his arms. She was utterly still and silent, obeying him without hesitation. Fuck. That made him throb. The sounds of sex were so close. Sounds he’d not heard in years. Ronon closed his eyes, bowing his head enough to inhale the scent of her. The fragrance of flowers clung to her skin, to her hair, and to her clothing. Not precisely, a perfume, but something lighter and more subtle. 

Ronon exhaled, a slow breath as the sounds continued, louder and more forceful. Imagining Becque crying out that way was all too easy. He’d not been this close to a woman in years and everything in him screamed for him to act. He breathed in again, more slowly this time, savoring the closeness of the little body trapped between him and the wall. When he opened his eyes, his gaze dropped to her lips just as the couple beside them began to make more noise. The sounds of pleasure, the moans and the sighs, were constant now. A barrage of input that had Ronon fisting his hands as he stared at Becque. 

She was so fucking close. Without conscious thought, he drew his hand down from where it rested against the wall and touched her hair. It was just as soft as it looked, for once loosened from the tight coil, the braid left to flow over her shoulders. He wanted more. 

****

Grace listened to Ronon’s breathing, unsure of why it had become slower, more deep as he remained still, blocking her view of the couple fucking against the pantry door, oblivious to their presence. He seemed utterly unaffected by anything except trying to keep them hidden. It wasn’t until she felt him move, his fingers touching her hair that she heard him inhale again. This time there was something different about it. Then she felt it, his thumb barely touching her lower lip, the contact so light that for a moment she doubted it was real. It went away a moment later and when he turned his head, she could feel his dreads brushing her face, the bare skin of her neck. 

Christ, he smelled better than any man had a right to. Cloves, sandalwood, dark and spicy. Grace’s eyes slid closed as she tightened her fingers into fists to keep from reaching out and touching him and ruining everything. His breath fanned over her shoulder and she felt him move again. Ronon was absolutely silent as he let his hand come to rest lightly on her waist. His fingers were warm, searing through the light fabric of the dress she’d found on her last trip to an off-world market. 

Something skewed in that moment as she realized his hand wasn’t still. His thumb was moving ever so slightly, stroking her through the fabric. A sharp cry came from beside them and she felt him tense, his head turning. For a moment Grace feared the woman was being hurt, but then the cry trailed off into a whimper and a moan. Ronon’s head shifted again, his face so very close to hers as she felt him exhale a ragged breath. His hand tightened at her waist, sliding down to her hip. 

Grace dared to turn her head, only to see his head bowed, his eyes on her. There was something she didn’t recognize in them. Instead of his usual poker face there was something dark in his gaze. His eyes lowered, locking to her lips, and she saw his own part as he breathed in slowly.

She focused her gaze straight forward, suddenly even more acutely aware of the ever increasing frenzy of moans as the couple continued their seemingly endless coupling. Meyers had some serious stamina and Kramer had to have a pussy made of iron to be able to take whatever the man was dishing out. The distraction of the sounds provided only lasted a second as she realized that Ronon’s hand was resting lightly on her waist, his head cocked to the side as he remained utterly still. 

On impulse, she let her head fall back against the wall. The sounds from beside them that rivaled any porn she’d watched when she was curious about sex worked in conjunction with the overpowering scent of him, the strength that was in that one hand, the soft breath against her cheek, even the heavy, heat of the stagnant air and the smell of sex that had begun to settle around them all worked together to play havoc on her senses. 

A mere 6 feet away, Kramer was now moaning in a long, incoherent babbling and the sound of Meyer’s groaning came almost continuously. Grace’s eyes fluttered closed as she wondered for a moment what that would be like. Ronon exhaled raggedly, and belatedly, Grace realized how uncomfortable this had to be for him as well. 

It took everything within her not to make a sound as she heard the sharp cry that came from Kramer and then the long, low groan from Meyers. Thankfully, the sound of fucking stopped, although the sound of the couple orgasming wasn’t much better. How the hell was Ronon behaving as if absolutely nothing were happening just a few feet away? 

****

Dimly he heard Meyers give a low-throated groan and the soft, feminine whimpers of completion drifted their way as the sound of fucking ceased. Soft words were spoken between the two, but Ronon was focused solely on Becque as she remained completely still, trapped between him and the wall. It was slow torture. Especially when he’d registered that her hands were on his belt, steadying herself. He wanted to feel those delicate fingers sliding his belt open so he could join Meyers in the quest for satisfaction. 

Instead, Ronon remained as still as a statue. The sound of soft, intimate laughter, a delighted sound between lovers, drifted toward them. When her head moved, soft strands of hair brushed his wrist. Ronon realized in a flash that at some point he’d put his hand on her waist. The warmth beneath his fingers was tantalizing and he was tempted to start sliding up the dress she wore. But he didn’t know her that well, yet, didn’t know what she would do. He’d already pushed her far enough and he needed to get the fuck out of here and take care of his problem before he made a fool of himself. His body still ached. He wanted so much more and he wanted it now. 

There was soft laughter from a few feet away and then the rustling of clothing before a few more kisses were exchanged and in the next moment, the door slid open. Neither of them moved as Ronon waited for the sound of the outer door. The second he did, he closed his eyes, crashing back to reality. If Meyers and Kramer hadn’t been right there, he would have had her pinned to the wall, doing to her exactly what they’d been doing. 

When Ronon lifted his head and dropped his hands, Becque was staring at him with blue eyes that carried in them a startling mix of innocence, fear, and burgeoning relief. Her face was flushed a healthy pink and her breasts rose and fell with her breathing. As his gaze traveled down the line of her body, he saw the wrinkled fabric of her dress. It was such a simple thing, such a small thing. But there was something satisfying about seeing her mussed, even though he hadn’t crossed a line. 

Ronon took a step back and shook his head to clear it. It took every ounce of his self control to meet her eyes without flinching, without giving in to that need to put her on the ground right then and there. Instead he breathed in deeply and shook his head to clear it. Then, against everything that he wanted to do so badly, Ronon forced himself to turn and walk away. 

Ten minutes later, he stood under the spray of the shower. No matter how hard he tried to ignore the throbbing of his cock, Becque’s scent lingered like a ghost. The way she’d trembled when she’d realized what was happening in the same room as them. In a perverse way, Ronon had enjoyed that trembling. Hell, he could still feel the linen of her dress beneath his fingers, the way her hair had brushed his hand when she’d moved ever so slightly. 

Ronon gave a growl as he yielded to the need to let his imagination run rampant. The sounds of sex were something he’d not heard, let alone made, in years. He wrapped his fingers around his shaft and let his eyes fall closed as he reached out to brace one hand against the tile wall. Everything about the small woman spoke of sweetness and innocence. Her whimpers would be so much softer, he could almost imagine his name being breathed out against his skin as he sheathed himself in her. He began to stroke faster, his mouth dropping open as he lost himself in the fantasy of it in a way he hadn’t in years. 

She’d be dripping wet by the time he was inside her, he’d make sure of it. He’d make certain that she wasn’t able to think coherently by the time he was taking her. Slowly at first, savoring the sweet body beneath his. Then faster, driving her toward the inevitable. Ronon leaned forward, his head coming to rest against the shower wall as he bared his teeth, the first tendrils that served as warning that he was close beginning to unfurl at the base of his spine. 

He could almost feel her squirming beneath him, her fingers on his skin, her soft voice pleading with him to give her more. Fuck, he wanted it. He wanted to hear that. He would drive her to the edge and straight over it. And then, just as she gave him what he wanted, he would take what he needed. He would fill her, come inside her, marking her as his from the inside out. Greed and lust combined in his belly and in the next second, pleasure ripped down Ronon’s spine at the mere idea of hot, slick walls clenching on him. He came with a gasp, his release erupting from him with a force he’d not experienced in years. It went on and on, the thrill of it buzzing through his head as his breath caught in his chest. He released a low groan, a sound he hadn’t made since he’d begun running, a sound that wasn’t so different from the one Meyer’s had made. When he finished, Ronon was fighting for air, his head spinning. 

As he slowly came back to himself, Ronon remained still, hands braced on the wall to support himself. The fantasy receded almost instantly, leaving him acutely aware of the fact that he was still alone. There was no one waiting for him in the other room, no warm body in his bed. In that moment, the grief that had haunted him those first days in the city reared its head once more, raw and real. There was no one to hold him, no one to fend off the nightmares when they came, unexpected and terrifying. 

Ronon knew this cycle well. Jerk off in the shower, realize there was nothing but his own hand and his anger, and then the self-loathing started as he found himself disgusted, yet again, by his own weakness. This time though, it wasn’t self-loathing that hit him. It was realization that it hadn’t been Melena’s body he was thinking of, as he always had. Tears stung at his eyes. Wasn’t it a betrayal of her memory? Ronon reached up and wrenched the shower to cold water. 

By the time he exited the shower, clean and freezing, he was calm again. Reluctantly, he had to admit that the release had helped him, even though he hated the tumult of emotions that inevitably followed. He knew they came because he was at his most vulnerable, walls down for those few moments when his brain couldn’t process anything. 

It wasn’t until he’d turned off the light, plunging the room into darkness, that the idea hit him. Maybe it wasn’t Becque at all. Maybe it was that she was the first person to show him any sort of kindness since he’d arrived, aside from Teyla and Sheppard. Teyla was beautiful and while he considered her a friend, probably his closest friend in Atlantis, she wasn’t his type. 

Ronon slid beneath the soft furs, throwing one arm over his eyes as he considered the possibility. There were many things about Becque that he was attracted to. She was gentle, kind, soft-spoken. She always found the good in everything, no matter how hard she had to look. She had a thoughtful nature that was as innate as Ronon’s own tendency toward aggression. 

The books she’d given him were on his nightstand, frequently read and gently handled. She wanted nothing in return, ever. She was beautiful. That much was undeniable. Deceptively delicate in form, she was the opposite of most women on Sateda. Smaller and yet somehow, Becque conveyed a quiet strength that most women from her home world seemed to lack. Surely though, that attraction was something that would fade if he just stayed away, if he sated himself on something else, someone else. 

Ronon’s eyes snapped open as the thought occurred to him. In the months since he’d arrived, he’d begun to notice the looks the women gave him. He’d not experienced it since Sateda, not until he’d begun to notice it after he’d gotten the first change of clothes that Teyla’s people had sent to him. When he wasn’t draped in garments that were falling apart, and learned to weld one of their razors properly, the women had started to really look at him. 

He focused his gaze on the ceiling. Was that the answer? Becque was off limits. She was no more his for the taking than Teyla was. She was becoming a friend and he had more respect for her than to simply use her for a much needed round of simple fucking. Bedding one of the women who gave him those looks shouldn’t be too hard. And yet the mere idea was repugnant and Ronon discarded it. That was exactly the kind of man he’d been raised not to be. And he didn’t want to become that person now. He simply had to avoid her whenever possible, resist the temptation to do more than have polite conversation, and by all means, not get close enough to her to have another reaction like the ones he’d been having. Easy enough. Somewhere deep down, Ronon had a sinking suspicion that resolve wouldn’t be enough.


	5. Everything comes to pass, nothing comes to stay

Grace’s heart kicked up a notch as she listened to McKay outline the reasons for the mission she was being sent on. A few seats away, Dr. Weir held herself stiffly, as if she didn’t like the idea anymore than Grace did. Ronon Dex sat beside McKay, glowering in a way she hadn’t seen since his first days in Atlantis months before. Grace returned her attention to Rodney as he continued. “If Ronon’s contact is right and this planet did find a ZPM, it could be a very good thing for us. Now, the chances are good that it could be a completely different power source. We won’t know for certain until we go and have a look.” 

Her chest tightened reflexively as she glanced at Ronon, whose eyes were narrowed in obvious displeasure. McKay continued, undeterred. “The planet is in the database as a former outpost used as a low-level relay station, but it was otherwise uninhabited, meaning the population isn’t native to the planet. And there’s no mention of the Makanesh in the database either.” 

She heard a snort and when she looked up, Ronon leaned forward to brace his elbows on the table, jabbing at the surface as he made his point. “Like I said, they aren’t native to the planet. They’re native to Sateda. I told you this when you first came to me with this dumbass idea, McKay.”

McKay gave a long-suffering sigh. “Yes. I know that. But they don’t.” McKay flicked a finger between her and Weir. “That’s why it’s a briefing. Keep up.” 

Grace watched as Ronon’s gaze went from displeased to murderous, but he said nothing further as McKay turned his gaze to Weir. “One person should be plenty to get in there and do the basic legwork. Find the power source, determine if it’s a ZPM, and if the people of the planet might be willing to give it up.” 

“I also told you that sending a woman in there is a bad idea, especially alone.” Ronon interrupted again, his voice more forceful this time. When Weir’s eyes cut to him, Ronon continued. “What McKay isn’t telling you is that the Makanesh are religious nutjobs.” 

He had her attention completely at those words. Though he glanced at her for a split second, his attention was on Weir. Ronon opened his mouth to speak again but didn’t even get a full syllable out before McKay gave an exasperated huff. “I know that most societies in this galaxy aren’t exactly religiously or scientifically enlightened. That’s why I chose Becque. And that’s exactly why you weren’t invited to the meeting. You just showed up. And I don’t appreciate-” 

Weir held a hand, cutting McKay off. “I’d like to hear what Ronon has to say, Rodney.” It wasn’t the first time that Grace was grateful to the woman for her quiet ability to command a room. “Ronon, please continue.” 

Ronon’s lips tipped upward in a triumphant, decidedly nasty smirk in McKay’s direction before he focused his attention back on the other woman. “You want the long version or the short version, Doc?” 

“I want the version that explains your position clearly.” Weir’s tone was cautious, even as her eyes flicked to Grace, who remained absolutely silent. 

The large man nodded and cleared his throat uncomfortably. “After the last great culling of Sateda, about two hundred years ago, the population of my planet was nearly wiped out. Only a few thousand remained. Eventually the people realized they were stronger together and decided to unify, becoming one nation instead of dozens of warring tribes. The Makanesh were one of the few groups that opposed the new constitution.” 

Grace listened in rapt attention. Ronon’s gaze was steadily on Weir. “The members of the Makanesh were religious leaders, who didn’t care for the fact that the new government insisted on a secular society. Stuff like guaranteed voting rights for all people, regardless of social status or gender, equal rights under the law for women, the introduction of criminal statutes for physical harm to women specifically, and most of all, they were pissed that the central government wouldn’t declare a state religion.” 

It was a classic civil war scenario. Grace frowned faintly as she realized for the first time that it was no different from liberal and conservative politics back on earth, at least from an academic standpoint. Ronon’s voice was a deep rumble as he continued. “They fought back using religious doctrine, but the council no longer allowed religion to be a basis for legal rulings. So the Makanesh split off. They found a habitable planet and migrated there. It was a few hundred, but they actively recruited other unhappy tribal members over the next two centuries. Last I knew, they have a population of about ten thousand, all sworn to uphold the faith. And their version of the faith was backwards to start and has only gotten worse.” 

“And how would you know?” McKay interrupted, his exasperation apparent. 

This time, Ronon didn’t give him time to get started on one of his skeptical rants. Instead, his voice hardened as his gaze settled on his teammate. “Because I’ve been there. Have you?” 

Weir canted her head, eyes flicking back to Ronon curiously. Ronon sighed and then continued. “Maybe ten years after the split, they contacted the Satedan government asking for aid. We provided it. Military support, medical aid, food, you name it. All the way up until the Wraith came back. My unit did regular peacekeeping rotations on the Makanesh homeworld. I spent weeks there at a time. And no matter what McKay says, it’s a bad idea to send a woman in there at all. But if you send one alone, I promise you won’t see her again.” 

In the months since she’d met him, Ronon Dex had never shown himself to be pessimistic. He was a realist, to his core, but never over-exaggerating anything. Knowing this, dread settled in the pit of Grace’s stomach like a stone. Weir’s voice was pensive. “I’m listening.” 

McKay released a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes so hard that Grace was afraid for a moment they might detach and stick that way. She kind of wished they would. Ronon didn’t even acknowledge the slight, focusing his attention solely on Weir. “They’ve twisted their own religious tenants into something that doesn’t even resemble the original intention of it. Instead of focusing on protecting the weak, they subjugate them. Women aren’t even allowed to speak in mixed company or go anywhere alone. Punishments are public and brutal. If a woman doesn’t have a male relative to speak for her, she’s taken in as a ward of the state and used as a tool for political or financial gain. We aren’t talking about marriage or a relationship. We’re talking ownership.” Ronon emphasized the last word with a scowl. 

“If you send a woman in there alone, no matter how well trained she is, they will arrest her, they will separate her, and they will sell her to the highest bidder. Dr. Weir, I promise you, they won’t give a damn who that highest bidder is. Sending a woman in there alone will be a disaster, no matter what McKay says. I wouldn’t even send Teyla in there alone.” Ronon concluded as he sat back in his seat once more, his eyes flicking to Grace. To her surprise, they were steely and harder than she’d ever seen them. 

Weir drew in a breath and then glanced at McKay once more. “If the people of this planet are as extreme as Ronon says, I hesitate to allow Dr. Becque in there on her own.” Weir fell silent for a moment. 

McKay seized the chance to rebut everything Ronon had just said. “It’s even riskier to send a heavily armed team in until we know for sure that it’s worth the investment of manpower and resources. Becque is the perfect candidate. She’s a social scientist, which while not a real science, is still perfect for this kind of run. She’s trained in this kind of thing, adapting to primitive cultures and all that. It’s literally what she does. Right, Becque?” 

The smile he gave her was hopeful and for once, she read a kind of desperation in his gaze. Clearly, McKay’s need for a ZPM outweighed the need for her safety. It sickened her on more than one level. But then she’d been in unsafe situations before. “I am.” She conceded when she felt Weir’s eyes on her. Grace was silent for a moment longer before she spoke slowly. “I spent six months in the remotest parts of Afghanistan in Taliban controlled areas and did fine. But I also had a male guide who took legal responsibility for me. It was unpleasant, but in the end, I got the intel I needed and got out safely.” 

“So you think you can do this?” Weir’s expression was unreadable, her voice betraying caution. “And are you willing to, knowing all that Ronon has said about these people?” 

“Am I sure I can do it? No. Do I think it’s a good idea? Again, no. Am I willing to try? Yes, as long as I’m not going in there alone. I don’t think I have the skills to get myself out of trouble on my own.” Grace concluded as she dared to glance at Ronon beneath her eyelashes. 

Weir nodded slowly. “Ronon, you have a history with these people. Did your contact give you any more information that you think might help?”   
The large man frowned in displeasure. “No. Solen said that they’ve been taking in Satedan refugees who are willing to commit to their way of life. But he did say it’s only been a handful, three dozen or so in the past ten years.”

Grace watched as Dr. Weir’s eyes dropped to her tablet in thought. “Okay. I believe that finding out if there really is a ZPM or other power source is a good idea. I am not willing to risk Dr. Becque’s life to find out.” McKay opened his mouth instantly to protest, but Weir held up a hand and cut him off, continuing without missing a beat. “Ronon will go with her. He knows the culture and the people and he’ll be able to not only provide security, but also judge when or if they need to abort the mission. Rodney, I want you to provide Dr. Becque with the tools she’s going to need to find and identify the power source, if there is one. Ronon, I need you to get with Grace and brief her on what she needs to know before you both go in there.” 

Ronon’s glare toward McKay was dark and held the promise of bodily harm. “Right.” 

Weir pinned Ronon with a warning stare. “Is two days enough time, Ronon?” 

“Two years wouldn’t be enough time. I still say this is a bad idea.” He reiterated, and then sighed as Weir cocked a brow. “Sure. Yeah. Two days will do, I guess.” 

As Weir lifted a brow in her direction, Grace gave a nod. The last thing her boss needed was more bickering. Clearly, to McKay, a ZPM was worth the risk. And intellectually, she agreed. Or would have if it had been someone else’s freedom and life on the line, namely McKay’s. “Yeah. I’ll be ready.” 

****

Ronon tucked the bundle of cloth under one arm as he lifted a hand to knock at Becque’s door. A moment later, it slid open to reveal the tiny figure of the most stubborn creature he’d met since first laying eyes on Teyla. She flashed him a smile and stepped aside to let him enter. Her room looked exactly the same as it had when he’d first set foot inside several months before. 

He watched as she made her way toward the bureau that was tucked along the wall between the bathroom and closet doors. She was dressed in those damn cutoffs again and for a moment, Ronon was grateful he’d never seen her in them outside of this room. He made his way toward the bed, dropping the bundle of cloth onto it. “The plan is that we stay for no more than three days if it’s at all possible.”

She was relaxed, too relaxed, as he turned for the dresser. It irritated him to no end that she seemed not to be taking this seriously. Nevertheless, he continued on. “The two primary things to remember while we’re there are simple. You don’t expose any part of your body in public other than your hands and your face. Not your hair, not your toes, not even your wrists. Everything stays covered at all times. And secondly, you do not under any circumstances leave my side. Not even for a moment. Everything else is small compared to that. I can’t keep you safe if they arrest you. Then it turns into a rescue and I don’t want you to risk what they’ll do to you.” 

Becque took a seat on the bed, reaching for the bundle of cloth he’d dropped there, studying the yards of fabric. “What will they do?” her voice was quiet and calm, though Ronon was more than a little relieved to note the sober quality to her question. 

He began to sort through the clothing in her top drawer, sifting through t-shirts and tank tops to look for anything with long sleeves that might add extra protection. He wasn’t about to pull any punches with her. She needed to understand exactly why this was such a bad idea. “That depends entirely on the magistrate who makes the ruling. Some have women whipped publicly and then return them to where they belong. Some have the woman given to the guards to be used and then sold to the highest bidder. Some condemn her to be used as breeding stock. There’s really no set standard. Repeat offenders get it worse though.” 

When Ronon glanced back at her, he saw that she’d paled, her fingers wrapped around the pale blue fabric of the robes he’d found on Belkan the day before. She was staring at it, her little form completely still. She swallowed hard and drew in a breath before releasing it. “Okay. Got it.” 

He hated this. Hated seeing her apprehensive. Impulsively, Ronon spoke without thinking. “I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, Becque. There’s only one way to guarantee that’s going to happen though.” 

Those impossibly blue eyes lifted to his face in silent question. Ronon answered that question gently, but firmly. “You have to obey me instantly and without question at all times. Can you do that?” 

There it was. Relief flitted over delicately formed features and she nodded. “I can do that. I trust you.” 

Those words made Ronon’s belly tighten in the way that had become so predictable when he was around this woman. He’d managed to make it more than a month without a reaction to her, mostly because he’d actively avoided her. But as he stood there, long sleeved knit shirt in hand, he wondered again, just what it would be like to have her beneath him, whimpering. Ronon cleared his throat and tossed the shirt onto the bed. “You need something underneath the robes. Preferably a long skirt. Do you have anything?” Ronon glanced at her, watching as she rose to her feet and set the blue garment back on the bed, placing the knit top beside it. 

Without speaking, she made her way to the closet, sliding the door open to reveal the garments that hung within. She lifted a hanger, sliding a skirt off and shaking it out. Ronon turned to survey it. It was a basic piece of black fabric, gathered at the waist, but not too full and not too tight. He gave a nod. “That’ll work. Got anything else about the same length?” 

Becque tossed the skirt on the bed and turned for the closet once more. She stared into it, as if not really seeing the contents. Ronon stepped forward, quietly edging in beside her to survey the collection of clothing that hung there. Finally, he reached for a blue dress that was nearly the same shade of blue as the lighter of the robes. “This will work.” 

Relief shown in her eyes as Ronon slipped the garment off the hanger and set it down on the bed. “Go and try it on. The blue one. I need to show you how to wear the veil.” 

****  
Grace held the blue dress and the yards of fabric that she hadn’t the first clue how to wear, clutching them to her chest as the bathroom door slid closed behind her. A tremor shot through her as she realized she was being dressed by another person for the first time since she was a child. For some reason, the idea that it was Ronon dressing her, coupled with the seriousness of his words, sent a bolt of awareness and anxiety through her.

Her resolve was already wavering as she stripped out of her shorts and t-shirt and pulled the soft blue dress she reserved for the rare social events that Atlantis had for holidays, over her head. The blue capped sleeves were short, but the skirt flowed long, hitting mid-calf. Next to the black skirt she reserved for times when she just couldn’t be bothered, the blue summer dress was cooler and more flattering to her nearly non-existent figure. She shook out the blue robes, her gaze scanning the yard of billowing fabric that felt very much like a light, summer weight silk. She turned it over and over, but was unable to seem to find an end. Several frustrating minutes later, she balled it up and exited the bathroom, unable to contain her irritation as she pushed the fabric toward him. “This is impossible. I’ve been dressing myself for more than twenty years and I can’t seem to find any way into this thing.” 

A trace of humor entered his eyes as he shook the material out once more and skimmed his fingers along the edge until he was able to slip a hand into it. “Arms up, please.” Face flaming, Grace complied, letting him drape the fabric over her head and send it billowing down around her body. Immediately, she felt like she was wearing a parachute. 

She turned her eyes to him, arching a brow doubtfully. Instead, his fingers moved once more, deftly reaching into an armhole she hadn’t seen to seek out her hand, tugging it through. She realized a second later that the entire garment was evidently one massive rectangle. “I’m wearing a sheet.” 

The amused gleam in his eyes grew more pronounced. “Yep. Pretty much.” He stepped closer, producing three lengths of silk cord a shade darker than the robes. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing when he slipped one beneath each arm and tied them to strategically create billowing sleeves. The last went around her waist, to gather the rest of the fabric in more snugly so she wasn’t tripping over the copious amounts of fabric. The second the fabric kissed her skin more closely, she knew instantly it was indeed, silk. 

Ronon reached for the other length of cloth, a much more manageable amount. “Put your hair up. No one can see it down on that planet except me and then only when we’re alone.” 

“Why?” The question slipped out even as she moved to the dresser and lifted a handful of pins from the dish where she stored them. 

He watched her closely as she coiled the braid into a bun and secured it with the pins. “It’s one of the things the Makanesh and Satedans actually have in common. Hair is considered sensual to both our cultures. But the Makanesh take it to ridiculous lengths and decree that to loosen a woman’s hair is a sign of ownership. So, while we’re there, it’s best to just keep it up and covered to prevent any unfortunate misunderstandings.” 

Grace’s hands trembled at the very idea of her hair, her one vanity, leading to something terrible happening. And based on what he’d described to her minutes before, it would be, at the least, unpleasant. She turned to face him once more, stepping closer as he lifted the piece of cloth and settled it over her head. It was an oddly intimate act that brought him so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands were gentle and steady as he tucked the cloth over her forehead and down, behind her ears, tying it snugly at the nape of her neck. “You might want to secure it with more pins, just in case. No one there should even know what color your hair is. I’m serious.” 

Ronon stepped back, surveying her. Grace turned to take a look in the full length mirror on the other side of the room. She looked like a silk-draped pillow in the shapeless garment. “I look ridiculous.” She stated bluntly. “Is it the goal of the Makanesh to make women feel like a pillow with feet?” 

She saw a reluctant spark of amusement returning to his eyes. “No. It’s to make them feel invisible.” He corrected her as he stepped closer, surveying her critically. “I did the best I could with choosing the color, but the choices were limited and I had to take what I could get my hands on.” 

Grace’s eyes locked to his face as he stepped forward once more, his hands lifting to take hers, adjusting the sleeve of the garment down a little, hiding her wrists. The contact of his fingers touching bare skin and then sliding over the silk sent a shiver down her spine and launched butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed hard and drew in a deep breath. “Thank you, Ronon. I know you don’t want to do this. But it does make me feel better to know you’ll be there.” 

He didn’t answer for long seconds, instead dropping his hands from where he was adjusting the fabric. The heat from his hands lingered on her skin like the touch of a ghost. When he finally broke his silence, Ronon’s voice was low. “I’ll keep you safe.” Those words were so seriously spoken they sent a bolt of heat through her again, causing her face to flame.

****


	6. Change alone is eternal, perpetual, immortal.

Ronon shifted the backpack on his shoulders, acutely aware of Becque’s form next to his as they approached the city gates. To call it a city was too kind in Ronon’s eyes. There were no soaring buildings reaching up to the sky, no lifts, no electrical wires. There was no sound of music or even happy chatter pouring from taverns and restaurants. There were no throngs of people making their way shoulder to shoulder, being careful of streetcars and trucks. There were no lovers holding hands, or men with arms slung over the shoulders of their women as they courted openly and without reservation. 

Instead, as they passed under the arched entrance of the city gates, it was as if they’d passed into something far older than it actually was. Squat, ugly brick buildings and dirty streets littered with refuse welcomed them. The market stalls held an abundance of local goods, but the supplies were limited in variety. There was little in the way of cloth or armor or even weapons. What little snippets of conversation Ronon heard were subdued, rather than joyful. There were no specific words, just vague tones as they passed by through the market on the way to the temple like a beacon of everything ominous in the center of the city. 

Ronon felt Becque squeeze into his side as a man crowded into her. He snapped his head around and gave the fellow a glare, teeth bared in warning. The man stammered out an apology, and Ronon slid an arm around Becque’s shoulders and held her close to his side as they navigated the crowded dirt path. She didn’t resist, but remained tense in his grasp even as he hurried his step toward their destination. This place was dangerous enough without adding more contact with the locals than was strictly necessary. 

When they cleared the market and foot traffic lifted, he slid his arm from around her and reached for her hand, guiding it to his belt and tucking her fingers into the loop. He paused as they passed under the smaller, yet more ornate archway that let into the courtyard in front of the temple. Clearly modeled after the temple that had once stood in the center of the capital city of Sateda, it’s domed center soared overhead, tall enough to be seen for miles in any direction. Compared to the drab half-dead trees of the city below, the courtyard was a riot of color and scent with flowers of all kinds in full bloom. The gardens carefully and lovingly tended. The stone pathway led straight to the temple’s main entrance and yet there was very little foot traffic given that it was mid-afternoon. 

Ronon paused as he stared at the open doors of the temple. He hadn’t set foot in one since before the siege, when he and Melena had gone to see the Elders to begin the process of the contract negotiations for their marriage. He wasn’t a religious man, never had been, but he did observe traditions including the holy days and other functions when it had been expected. This was different though. The Makanesh didn’t revere the ancestors, they worshipped them as gods, twisted what they’d been about and the role they’d played so many thousands of years ago. Being in Atlantis had only confirmed Ronon’s opinion that the Ancestors had been as fallible as any other beings. 

He edged toward the garden, bowing his head to speak to Becque so softly that to anyone else, it would appear as a tender moment of reassurance. “There’s no going back once we step through those doors. Are you sure you want to do this?” 

Her blue eyes lifted to his face, wide and innocent but holding a steely determination. “And have to face McKay and tell him I chickened out even with the biggest, baddest fighter Atlantis has to offer by my side to protect me? No.” 

Ronon fought back a smile, even as his stomach turned at the mere knowledge of how very wrong this could go. “Okay. Once we’re inside, you don’t look at them, you don’t speak. Even if they ask you a direct question, you focus on me and wait for me to give you permission to do anything. They will be watching everything we do, looking for any reason to doubt the story. If you’re in, you’re all in and we see it through. Got it?” 

Becque gave a singular nod. “Yeah. I got it. How do I look?” 

Ronon glanced at her, then gave her a smirk. “Like a giant kapa berry.” 

Some of the tension in her body eased at the quip and she flashed him a prim smile. “Kapa berries got nothing on my tartness, Ronon Dex.” 

He didn’t try to stop the smirk as it tipped the corner of his lips again. “Kapa berries are sweet. You’d like them. Maybe we can find some while we’re here. Let’s go.” 

****

Grace’s attention was instantly captured by the sharp contrast between the dirty, unkempt lower city and the area inside the temple walls. As they stepped inside the temple, the temperature was considerably cooler. Even the humidity of the oppressive summer heat seemed to abate somewhat as Ronon led them through the lobby and toward what looked suspiciously like a reception desk. She kept her fingers tucked snugly into his belt loop as he waited for them to be acknowledged. Remembering Ronon’s instructions, Grace ensured her eyes were lowered, but gazed curiously around herself. The temple floor was tiled in vivid blues and greens. The plaster walls were painted a cool white all the way up to the vaulted ceilings. 

“The Ancestors see all.” The man behind the desk said by way of greeting.

Grace felt the man’s eyes settle on hers and she held very still, training her gaze on the toes of Ronon’s newly polished boots and the fine layer of dust that had already covered them. Ronon’s voice was a soft rumble and he sounded genuine, even to her ears. “The Ancestors hear all.” 

She could hear the tone of the man’s voice shift, as if pleased that Ronon knew the proper response. “Ah! A man of the faith. Satedan from the rank markings?” Grace could hear the note of curiosity in the man’s voice. “Infantry Specialist, if my memory serves.” 

“Yes.” Ronon answered shortly. Grace noticed he didn’t question how the man knew the exact meaning of the tattoo on his neck, but then she had no idea of what other rank markings looked like for comparison. “We’ve come for refuge.” 

There was a pause, and then the man chuckled. “Ah! So you’ll be wanting to see the Elder. Give me just a few minutes and I’ll see if they are available. Mira, come here.” There was the sound of a light footstep, accompanied by the soft tinkling of bells approaching. The man spoke once more. “Show our guests to the atrium and serve them something to mitigate the heat.” 

Grace dared to look up through her lashes at the girl. She was taller than her, slender but with supple curves that made Grace feel like she had in high school. They were the kind of curves men loved. The girl wore her hair down, loose and flowing down her back, and immediately Grace frowned. Ronon had warned her not to do that exact thing. Why was this girl allowed it and not her? Immediately, Grace caught herself in that moment of immaturity and frowned. It was puzzling, even to her. 

Ronon followed the girl without speaking and Grace fell into step beside him, as they were led through the lobby to a room off the side. High arches and low walls framed another exquisitely kept garden that was a burst of color in an otherwise monochromatic city. In the center, a fountain bubbled, a sculpture of a robed, veiled woman with a jar poured water out into the pool, forever flooding her own bare feet. The girl spoke quietly. “Would Master like mint tea or would you prefer ale?” 

Ronon lifted a hand, gently tugging Grace’s fingers from his belt and gesturing to the deep red cushion on the floor. “Ale for me. Tea for my wife.” he said succinctly. He didn’t even thank the girl as he lowered himself to take a seat on the brown cushion, larger than the one Grace took a seat on beside him. She was grateful when he reached over and slid her closer to his side. 

“Master?” She hissed the word at him, lifting her eyes to his face. 

Green eyes met her own, holding a warning. “Keep your voice down. She’s a slave, Becque. That’s why her hair is loose and she’s wearing very little compared to you.” 

A lump immediately rose to her throat and she drew in a breath in an attempt to calm her nerves. “I don’t understand. I thought all women were property here.” 

“They are.” He leaned forward, one hand lifting to adjust the fabric that had slipped back on her head. “It’s a fine difference, Becque. One that’s made only by the fact that a wife can bear children and can’t be killed. They’re given a measure of respect in the eyes of the law that slaves aren’t. A slave isn’t allowed to bear a man’s child, or if she does, the child will be claimed by the state and given to a childless couple to be raised. She can be bought and sold and even killed at the whim of the people who own her. It’s just one of many reasons I didn’t want you to accept this mission.” 

The sound of tinkling bells alerted her to the return of the girl. Grace didn’t dare keep her eyes lifted to Ronon’s face, less for the propriety of it and more for the relief that he wouldn’t be able to see the troubled expression she knew she would be unable to completely hide. The soft clatter of a tray being placed on the table was accompanied by still more softly spoken words. “Shall I serve you, Master?” 

Ronon’s voice was clipped in answer. “My wife will serve me, you can go.” The sound of him saying those words brought another round of butterflies loose in her stomach. As Grace listened to the sound of bells retreating, she lifted her head once more and reached for the pitcher that rested on the tray, covered by a cloth. Her fingers closed around the tankard and she lifted it, placing it before Ronon. He watched her movements closely, and spoke quietly as she flipped the cloth back and poured the tankard almost full. “You’re doing fine. Have some tea.” 

Grace dared to lift her eyes to his face. He stared at her for a moment, then offered her a brief smile before he reached for the ale. She exhaled and then forced a smile that was far brighter than she felt, lowering her eyes to the tray once more. She poured the tea, which smelled distinctly of a mint that was almost a cross between spearmint and peppermint. As she lifted it to her lips, the sound of heavy footsteps entering the room made her stiffen for a moment. Ronon’s hand came to rest on her knee in a movement that seemed entirely natural as the newcomer spoke. “Good day. I am Elder Makai. Corwyn told me you have come seeking refuge?” 

Ronon spoke smoothly, his voice olding a quiet authority. “Yes. That’s right.” 

The man moved to take a seat on the other side of Ronon, his voice smooth. “May I know your name?” 

There was a pause and then Ronon answered. “Ronon Dex of Clan Dexa. This is my wife, Grace. Grace, you can greet the Elder.” 

Grace lifted her head, but kept her eyes trained on the teacup that now rested on the table. She gave a mild smile, keeping her voice soft, the way her grandmother used to do when trying to soothe her grandfather when he’d been in a temper. “Good day, Elder.” 

She saw a smile skitter over the man’s face in the moment that she dared to raise her eyes as far as his chin. She lowered her gaze quickly once more as the man spoke again. “It is good to meet you, Ronon Dex, and your lovely wife as well. How can we provide assistance to you and yours?” 

Ronon’s voice held a carefully calculated trace of bitterness. “Circumstances in the settlement where we were until recently changed for the worse. I heard from a friend that you were accepting of Satedan refugees, that you would provide shelter and work.” 

“Ah. Yes, of course. Corwyn mentioned that you were a Specialist. Your sacrifice should be repaid with more than you have been given. Sateda, and by extension us as well, have lost much more than just good men and woman. You are, of course, welcome here. Your wife is not Satedan, however?” The question lingered in the air, smoothly spoken. 

Grace detected a note of displeasure in Ronon’s rumbled answer. “What kind of a question is that? You know as well as I do that she became Satedan when she became mine. I don’t have to sit here and be insulted.” She felt Ronon begin to rise. 

In the next instant, the Elder spoke quickly. “No! Please. Sit. You understand, we must be thorough. You bear the mark of a Satedan warrior, but not all who come through these doors have even the vaguest sense of who they are or where they come from. Just this past spring, we had a young man, perhaps twenty winters old, come with a woman, but claimed she was not Satedan.” 

Ronon’s voice was harder. “Trying to trick me so you can take her from me?” 

“No tricks, I promise. Just a little test. Please, sit. Let us discuss how we can help one another.” The Elder’s voice turned friendly once more, the desperation seeming to edge out of it. “Sit, sit.” 

She saw Ronon’s leather clad thigh in her field of view once more as he resumed his seat, his voice holding clear warning. “Try that again and I will slaughter every person in this fucking temple, and you can explain to the Ancestors how you ended up among them before your time. No one touches what’s mine, Grace included.” 

The Elder gave a soft chuckle of amusement. “Spoken like a true Satedan. As if you never left Sateda.” 

Beside her, Ronon bristled as the Elder continued. “You have been fully informed of your obligation to the temple upon arrival?” 

Ronon’s voice was tight in response. “I know the tenants of my faith, don’t you worry about that.” 

“Good. Good.” The man was silent for a moment and she felt his gaze on her, sharp and predatory. It was as if he were no longer bothering with the friendly facade. His words, though, were addressed to Ronon. “And you are willing to fulfill those obligations?” 

“What makes you think I already don’t?” Ronon’s voice was low and dangerous. “Grace, lift your eyes to the Elder’s face.” 

She did so without hesitation. The man was old, at least seventy, but tall and lean with a rugged, scarred face that might have been handsome in his youth. He still would have been, if it were for the cruelty in his gray eyes as he stared at her. Ronon’s voice came once again. “Grace, what happened the first time I saw you looking at any other man than me, without my permission?”

The words were steadily given, the first chance she knew he was giving her the chance to support the story he’d cooked up to get them in where they needed to be. Grace kept her eyes on the Elder, her voice quiet. “You taught me otherwise with your belt.” 

The words sickened her, even as she spoke them. Ronon’s gaze never wavered from the Elder’s face. “And tell the Elder, have we had a repeat of that unfortunate event?” 

“Of course not, Ronon.” She spoke quietly, holding the man’s gaze steadily. 

Ronon didn’t even look at her as he spoke in quiet, menacing command. “Lower your eyes, Grace.” She complied instantly, knowing this was a crucial moment. The man sitting beside her was still Ronon, even if he held his ground with as much danger as the Elder across from her. “Do you want to question my control of my woman again, Elder?” 

Grace heard the soft chuckle from the older man. “Of course not. You will be shown to quarters here within the temple. They have a lovely view of the gardens. There you may rest and take your supper. Afterwards, Mira will give you a tour of the temple grounds before you begin your sequestering.” 

“Sequestering?” Ronon questioned, and for the first time Grace knew he wasn’t expecting this. She held still, giving nothing away though. 

The Elder rose to his feet. “But of course. We must be assured of your devotion to the faith and your ability to uphold our ways. This requires a period of reflection and instruction to ensure you are prepared for the commitment it takes to live among us. You will be required to prove that you consistently reinforce your authority of the women to a degree which satisfies us. And the woman will prove her submission to you as her husband, especially given that she is Satedan by marriage and not birth. Surely you cannot object to this.” 

She could tell that Ronon wanted to, with every fiber of his being. His voice was tight as he retorted. “I’m not accustomed to having to prove myself capable of handling my own wife. What is between us is private.” 

“Indeed.” The Elder said softly. “And what we observe and hear during your stay here is between you, her, the Ancestors, and the Elders. After all, the Ancestors see and hear all. Do they not?” 

Grace glanced to Ronon, studying him beneath her lashes. A muscle in his jaw twitched and he gave a brittle smile. “They do, I have no doubt of that. But is it necessary for you to as well?” 

“Of course it is. I assure you, we take no pleasure in it. It is simply a test of faith, proof of your willingness to adhere to the ways of the Makanesh. It is required of all new arrivals. Especially Satedans, given their liberal upbringing, we think it best to ensure they are truly up to the challenge of living among the faithful.” The Elder’s words were like listening to an eel granted the gift of speech, slippery and laced with meaning Grace couldn’t quite grasp. 

Ronon’s face relaxed, as if he understood, but his fingers were on her knee once more, tight to the point of pain and it took everything in her not to wince. “Of course. I understand. My apologies for doubting your motives, Elder.” He sounded genuine, and if his fingers were gripping her leg tight enough to leave bruises, she might have believed him. 

The Elder seemed placated as he called out. “Mira.” The soft tinkling of bells signaled the girl’s arrival once more. When the tinkling stopped, the Elder’s voice was quiet, but firm. “Please show our guests to the disciple’s quarters overlooking the garden. You may speak as needed, but do not make a nuisance of yourself, girl.” 

“Yes, Elder.” The girl’s voice was soft, lacking any inflection or emotion as the Elder turned to walk away. As the footsteps retreated, the girl spoke once more. “Please allow me to take your tray. I will show you to your room.” 

Ronon rose smoothly to his feet and Grace caught sight of the simple flick of his forefinger signalling her to rise. The worst was over. They’d made it in. Relief flooded her as she tucked her fingers into his belt loop once more, glancing up as he steadied the backpack over his shoulder and set off, following the slave who had picked up the tray with practiced ease. The relief was palpable, at least to her. Even Ronon seemed marginally less tense as he guided her up the stairs, careful to measure his stride to her own. That one little conscious bit of awareness of their height difference reassured Grace in a new way. He was taking care of her already, in more ways than one. 

****  
Ronon followed the girl up down the hallway. She paused in front of a door, reaching to lift the latch and push it open, balancing the tray in one hand as she entered the room in front of them. The sinking suspicion he’d had when talking to the Elder was only confirmed when the girl moved to place the tray down on a low table beside the arched exit onto a balcony. The room, at first glance, was comfortable, but not luxurious. A large bed dominated the center of the room, white linens and furs piled high. It looked inviting, and were he not already on high-alert, he might have given it more of an examination. There was a well-appointed bathroom with a deep tub with several steps to climb to reach it. Ronon glanced toward it with a furrowed brow. “Running water?” 

The girl turned to peer at him with a smile. “Of course. Hot and cold, Master. Shall I draw you a bath?” 

“No.” Ronon answered her shortly, tugging off the backpack full of equipment and weapons. It was too simple, too easy. “When is dinner?” 

“I will bring your dinner to you and yours, Master, when it is time. Until then, you should rest, and pray before the sequestering officially begins as sunset.” There it was again. Sequestering. He had heard the term before, the Elder at the temple had used it, but in a completely different context. On Sateda, a sequestering was a period of time after the wedding where the newly married couple were housed away from their families, to be alone as officially married for the first time. The Elders brought food and drink, provided for every need for the first week of the marriage. It was startlingly similar to what Sheppard had called a honeymoon. 

Ronon frowned toward the girl. “I don’t understand. We’ve already had the Sequestering when we were married. We don’t need another.” 

The girl appeared faintly confused for a moment and then understanding dawned in her brown eyes. “Ah. This is different. In this case, the sequestering is for both of you to meditate on the place of a man and his wife, beneath the watchful eyes of the Ancestors and the Elders.” 

It was starting to sink in, and with it, Ronon’s stomach clenched. The girl stepped closer, but didn’t dare to touch him. Her head bowed, her voice lowering as she glanced meaningfully toward the large mural that dominated the wall opposite the bed. “The Ancestors see all, Master.” 

Ronon’s gaze drifted to the mural and then he understood. “The Ancestors hear all?” He replied, his voice lifting in a question. 

The girl inclined her head respectfully. “The room will be unlocked when the Elders are satisfied that you have accepted the authority of the Temple and the Ancestors and embraced your own. Elder Makai is very fond of saying that a man may only rule when he has learned to yield, and a woman may only ever yield to a man who has learned to rule.” 

He pinned the girl with a glare and this time, the ire in his voice was genuine. “You overstep yourself, slave. You can leave now.” 

She flashed him a half-smile. “Very well, Master. If you need anything at all, you have only to speak it and it will be seen to. I wish you a very pleasant rest, and a successful and brief sequestering.” 

He wanted to tell her to fuck off, but knew she was only trying to help. The entire situation had just gone from dangerous to potentially deadly. McKay couldn’t have known it, neither could Weir. But Sincha? Was it really possible that Solen could have been so fucking naive? The whackjobs had really gotten worse in the past ten years since he’d been here before. Voyuerism was not one of Ronon’s kinks. And he had plenty of kinks, even by Satedan standards. He waited until the girl left to bow his head, settling the bag he held on the end of the bed. 

Becque spoke quietly. “That went well.” Ronon cut his eyes to her and shook his head. “I’m not ready to listen to you speak yet. Be silent.” It was entirely possible the acolytes were already watching them, listening. 

She frowned at him and then nodded. She was a smart little thing, and instantly knew he wouldn’t speak to her that way without good reason. Ronon glanced to the balcony. “Bring the tray outside. We should take advantage of the shade and you can look at the garden while I… meditate on… stuff.” 

She stared at him for a moment and then gave another of those smiles that she’d given downstairs, her eyes instantly going vacant. It was an uncanny, and handy talent, if a little weird, the way she could blink away any sign of the brilliance that he saw every time she looked at him with those blue eyes that reminded him so much of the Satedan sky, of home. 

Ronon didn’t wait for her as he turned and exited the room, stepping out onto the large balcony and pacing toward the railing. It was far enough away that he should be able to at least talk quietly without being heard. The rest of the room was just as vulnerable, he had no doubt, as the girl had hinted at. Becque appeared at his elbow, refilled ale in hand. He accepted it and slid an arm around her shoulder, tucking her into his side. 

She didn’t resist, but instead went willingly, eyes focused on the flamboyantly colored flowers below them. Ronon took a long pull of the ale, no longer worried about it being tainted in some way. No, the Elders of the temple were far more transparent. They wore their treachery openly in the demand that he violate the woman who had placed her trust in him. Ronon lowered the tankard and his head. From a distance, it would look for all the world like a loving embrace from a man to his wife. Becque stood still as he rested his lips against her ear and spoke the words softly. “Put your arms around me.” 

Without hesitation, she did as he asked and instantly, the warmth of her little frame pervaded him. Unexpectedly, it relaxed him. He closed his eyes for a moment, wrapping his arms around her, careful not to spill the admittedly good ale. He lowered his head to murmur the words quietly. “They’re watching and listening, probably from the wall the mural is on. Lift your head and look at me so I know you’re listening.” 

He felt Becque shift and she lifted her head to peer up at him. For the first time, he saw worry in her eyes. Ronon lifted a hand, cupping her cheek and bowing his head as if to kiss her. This time he gave breath to the words softly. “They won’t let us out until they get what they want. If we try to run, they’ll arrest me and take you. We can’t risk that. I’m going to need you to trust me that I won’t ever really hurt you. Can you do that?” 

She gave the tiniest nod even as Ronon felt her begin to tremble. He slid his fingers over the apple of her cheek and gifted her with an adoring smile, knowing that even if they were being watched, at least for the moment, they couldn’t be heard. “Good. I don’t have time to explain it all, but we’re going to go get in the bed after we eat our snack. When we do, I need you to snuggle up really close. I should be able to explain better then. For now, just keep acting the way you have been. You’re doing great.” 

Another one of those tiny nods. Ronon dipped his head, brushing his lips over hers in a light kiss that lingered a moment longer than he intended. The electricity that ripped down his spine went straight to his core and inexplicably he felt his traitorous body begin to react. It took everything in him to maintain the controlled facade as he lifted his head and touched her cheek once more, then stepped back, his voice still soft, but loud enough to be heard should they truly be listening. “Go and get the bed turned down, then come out here and eat before we rest.” 

Becque’s eyes were cautious and wary as she nodded, her voice lifting to match his own, sounding for all the world like a good, submissive wife like the Makanesh needed to be convinced she was. “Yes, Ronon. Will you save me some of the melon I saw on the plate, please?” She was bright, sweet, and he wanted her, but not like this. There had to be some way out, if only he could hit on an idea. Becque deserved more. Hell, he deserved more.

Ronon flashed her a grin and leaned a hip on the railing as he lifted the tankard to his lips once more. “Maybe if you hurry. And you can take the robes off while we’re in the room.” She seemed to relax at the indication that he was still himself, at least as much as he could be, when they were alone. She stepped into the room once more and Ronon turned away to gaze out toward the garden. He couldn’t track her every move as he wanted to. It would show weakness. She was supposed to bend to him, worship him, not the other way around. It was going to be a long few days.


	7. Hearts rebuilt from hope resurrect dreams killed by hate.

It took all of Grace’s self-control not to react outwardly to the light brush of Ronon’s lips across her own. His body had been warm and solid against hers, an anchor in a place that intimidated her even more than when she’d spent months living in a tent in Afghanistan in hostile territory. The sweet, chaste touch was enough to send heat pulsing through her veins and liquid want pooling in her belly. It was foolish. It was stupid. And it was unavoidable. 

He still stood outside on the balcony, leaning on the railing as he nursed the tankard of ale. She suspected it was more to give himself time to think. Ronon was nothing if not a strategist. Her job here was to find out if there was a ZPM, or any other power source. So far, it didn’t even look like these people had even discovered the Pegasus equivalent of the nine volt battery. Hot and cold running water and a flush toilet seemed to be just about the limit of their technology. The tub though, that was nice. Way more appealing than the tiny shower stall in her little room back on Atlantis. Maybe she could at least test it out at some point. 

The bed was a decently sized affair, with crisp linen sheets and large furs that were piled up for warmth. It would be snug, especially if the nights here were cool, as Ronon had warned. However now, in the oppressive heat that seemed inescapable, it wouldn’t be welcome. She pulled them back and folded them neatly at the foot of the bed. It was remarkable how many things were universal. Sheets for instance. A top sheet and a bottom sheet. And pillows. One large pillow running the width of the bed, and half a dozen smaller ones, all kitted out in the same, soft linen. 

Grace carefully began the arduous process of untying the cords that held the hideous robe in place. The color was lovely, and the silk was soft and cool against her skin. But the sheer bulk of it negated those positive points. As she carefully drew it over her head and shook it out, her eyes fell to the bag she’d moved from the bed to the low table. Precious equipment inside that she dared not touch. One wrong move and this entire thing could go disastrously wrong. Instead, she folded the robe and the scarf and placed it down on the table beside the bag, slipping off her socks and boots. 

She lingered in the doorway for a moment before she padded barefoot back onto the balcony. A blissfully cool breeze kissed her skin and for a moment, she closed her eyes and all was right with the world. This place truly was beautiful, even if it was more dangerous than anywhere else she’d been before. When she opened her eyes again, Ronon was watching her, his expression unreadable. He moved to the table and took a seat, indicating the cushion beside him. Grace moved and knelt down, the cool on bare legs as she settled in. 

To her surprise, he lifted one of the pieces of fruit and held it to her lips. “I’m going to ask the girl if we can see the gardens after dinner, before the sun sets. Once the sequestering begins, I don’t think we will be allowed. They’ll lock the door.” His voice was rock steady, even as he reiterated what she’d heard the girl say earlier. 

Grace had no idea what that meant, but knew better than to ask. Instead, she parted her lips and accepted the piece of fruit. She chewed slowly. The fruit tasted like a cross between a mango and a lemon, citrusy but with a sweet undertone. When she swallowed, he was watching her intently, as if expecting an answer. “That would be wonderful. Thank you. I thought I saw kamari blossoms when we came in the main gate. I’d love to get a closer look if you don’t mind.” 

Wordlessly, he nodded and lifted another piece of the fruit to her lips. When her eyes lifted to his face after accepting the bite, his eyes had darkened in a way she didn’t recognize and couldn’t read. “I’ll see what I can do.” Ronon’s voice was low, his eyes lingering on her lips. Belatedly, she felt the trickle of juice running down her chin and lifted her hand to swipe at it. He averted his gaze in the next moment and pushed the plate toward her. “Messy girl. Feed yourself.” The words were gruffly spoken, holding no real venom. 

Grace turned her attention toward the plate and lifted a piece of a different fruit. Ronon was silent, his mood shifting to something she didn’t understand, something darker and more somber. He refilled his ale and nursed it quietly as she sat beside him silently. Something was bothering him, more than just the unexpected turn of events. What exactly did the term sequestering mean? She dared to glance up at him, but he never took his eyes off the garden beyond the railing, staring at it but clearing not really seeing it. 

She finished what she wanted of the fruit and pushed the plate away, then reached for the tankard, taking it from his hands. With a surprised blink, he yielded it, watching as she took a long sip, quietly explaining with a smile intended to cheer him, or at least pull him from whatever funk he was in. “It’s too hot for more tea.” 

His nod was minute and his brow dropped, as if troubled more deeply than he had been willing to show. In the next moment, that smile returned, though as before it didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s go get some rest before dinner.” With that, he rose to his feet, and yet again, Grace was struck by how impossibly tall and solid he was. She stood and trailed after him into the room. 

He glanced toward the bed and then to her, his voice uncharacteristically terse. “You don’t need to undress for now.” There was something in those words, and a thread of worry began to form in the pit of her stomach. Grace watched quietly as he shed his boots and socks and then stripped the linen tunic he’d worn over his head. A moment later, the heavy leather belt he always wore followed before he jerked his head toward the bed. “Go on.” 

She gave a nod and turned for the bed, crawling into it. Surely there couldn’t be any expectation of actual rest. Not when they had no plan, so much to discuss, and she had no idea where to begin. Grateful for at least the illusion of privacy for a moment, she pulled the sheet up to her shoulder and turned to face the arches that overlooked the balcony and garden beyond. 

A moment later, she felt the bed dip under Ronon’s weight, the sheet being adjusted as he settled in. There was a moment of silence before she felt him move. “Closer.” He spoke the single word as a command. 

Grace swallowed hard and rolled to face him where he lay on his back facing the canopy of the bed. She stared for a moment before he spoke again, his voice harsher. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Grace.” For some reason, those words, that tone, only made the fact that they were being watched all the more real. She didn’t know Ronon well, but she knew enough to know that he wouldn’t speak to her this way without a good reason. She edged closer, carefully tucking herself next to him. 

He rolled to his side to face her and gave a displeased huff as his hand slipped beneath the sheet and and hooked around her waist, hauling her bodily closer. His other arms stretched beneath her head wrapping around her to rest on her shoulder in an embrace that was at once awkward and oddly reassuring. Once more, his expression was unreadable as he studied her. He bowed his head, nuzzling her nose lightly for a moment before brushing another of those elusively light kisses over her lips. When he caught her eye, his lips curved into a reassuring smile. The arm at her waist moved and came to grip her chin, tipping her head to the side. 

For all the world they would look as they had on the balcony, like lovers twining together. His voice came in a whisper so soft that even she could barely hear it. “Wrap your arms around me and look disgustingly happy.” 

Grace eased one arm around his body, fingers coming to rest between his shoulders as she closed her eyes and let her lips curve into a smile. She had no context for this, what she was supposed to be doing. She’d never been this close to a man in bed, and the fact that it was Ronon who was sliding his foot between her shins, wrapping his body around hers, only made the experience that much more unsettling. His breath was hot against the shell of her ear. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Becque.”

Even as his fingers skittered over her neck, stroking her collarbone in a way that sent little zings of arousal down her spine, she forced herself to focus entirely on his words as he continued. “Atlantis won’t expect a check-in for three days, at least. I need you to be on guard. Something is wrong here. Worse than I expect. Moan like you’re in ecstasy.” 

Grace had never moaned in ecstasy, and when she did make a sound, it came out as more of a pained grunt. Ronon’s fingers tightened on her shoulder and his stroking paused for a moment. In the next second, he spoke again. “Whatever happens, we can’t let them lock us in here tonight. The door will probably be guarded, and so will the balcony, I’m sure. If the girl was telling the truth, and I think she was, it would be impossible to escape after that. No piece of tech is worth what they want to see.” 

Grace pulled away, staring at him. For the sake of whoever was watching, if they were, she slipped a hand to his face and stroked her thumb over his lips, bowing her own head as if to kiss him. She murmured the words as softly as she was able. “What do they expect, Ronon? What is sequestering?” 

She watched as he closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, his expression was darker, filled with a kind of hatred. She knew instantly it was directed at the Elders for walking them directly into some kind of a trap she didn’t understand. Ronon’s lips slammed down on hers in the next instant. It wasn’t one of the respectful, chaste kisses he’d brushed over them for the sake of show as before. It was greedy, hungry and hot, his lips slanting over her own as he dragged her body against his.

He moved so fast she didn’t even register it until he had rolled her to her back and settled her on top of him, tossing off the sheet and tugging her dress up. His fingers skimmed over her thigh before hooking behind her knee and tugging her legs apart. In the next instant, she felt his hips move, rocking against her own. He tore his lips from hers and without a word, lifted his brows in silent explanation. In one sickening second, she realized exactly what he’d just explained without words. The Elders wanted to watch him fuck her, most likely in the most brutal way he was capable of. 

She nodded minutely, and saw the relief that flitted over his handsome face as he released her thigh and brought his hand up, supporting his weight on his elbow as he touched her face lightly. Another kiss, this one light once more, was brushed over her lips, the touch lingering as he breathed out the words. “They see sex as a means of control, Becque. Pain or pleasure, it doesn’t matter. They won’t be happy until they see me hurting you. Do you understand?” When he lifted his head this time, she was startled by the raw hatred in those beautiful green eyes. 

Absurdly, she wanted to soothe that anger away, the false intimacy of the position he held her in provoking some latent instinct to make him feel better. “I understand.” 

His gaze was intent as he stared down at her and for a moment, she thought she saw something else, something darker in them, this time focused on her. In the next moment though, he wrapped his arms around her, rolling back to his side as he rumbled out the words. “You’re no use to me this exhausted. Go to sleep.” 

****  
Sleep was something that didn’t come, even after he heard the ever so slight shift in Becque’s breathing. Ronon lay there with his eyes closed, arms around the slight form that he held against him. The urge to protect her fought with the knowledge that he’d given in just the tiny bit he had wanted to. He’d wanted to know what she tasted like, really tasted like. He’d wanted to know what she would feel like beneath him. He’d gotten a simple taste of both and it had only made him want more. 

She’d tasted of fruit and dark, strong ale. She’d tasted of fear and sweet surprise. The cradle of her thighs had fit him so fucking well, despite being small and deceptively delicate in form. Ronon had wanted to stay there, on top of her, to grind into her as he felt his cock thickening, hardening in anticipation of something he couldn’t have. Instead, he’d rolled off her before she noticed and chosen words that would satisfy those who might be watching, even as the gruff tone had been genuine. 

Ronon didn’t dare open his eyes, knowing what he’d see. He’d see her face, lips suitable for more kisses, resting and relaxed. He’d see the shape of her limbs tangled with his in the sheets, in the repose of lovers. Ronon silently thanked whatever gods there really were that she’d seemed too shocked by what the Elders wanted from them that she hadn’t seemed to notice that when he’d rolled them to their sides, he’d placed as much distance between them as he could without arousing suspicion. 

He needed a plan. That was going to be the hard part. Leaving would be harder than arriving. Returning to Atlantis without intel they needed would be hard enough to explain, but managing to get out of here was the only thing he couldn’t seem to come up with a plan for. Not without killing innocent people. Even the Elder, as creepy as he was, wasn’t guilty of anything beyond being a pervert. And running, while possible, meant navigating an hour of ground between the city and the stargate. And that was if they could make it out of the city without being noticed, which was simply not going to happen. 

Ronon didn’t delude himself. The value to them wasn’t in his presence, they would consider him an asset, but Becque… she was a woman. She had a monetary value. Solen had warned him on this point, that those who entered the temple left only one or two ways. As a member of the Makanesh, or in chains. Ronon’s arms tightened around Becque reflexively. She buried her face into his shoulder in her sleep, her lips brushing his chest in an unexpected kiss. He dared to open his eyes, glancing down at her. With a sinking heart, he knew that running would result in the worst possible disaster. If they weren’t even being left alone in a locked room, there was no way of getting out of the sight of the girl or the temple guards he’d seen posted around the ground. 

With that realization, his thoughts shifted from escape to damage control. The easiest and fastest way out of here was to give them what they wanted. That he could do, but the real question was, could Becque take it? How far was she willing to go, to trust him? More importantly, how much was he really capable of unleashing on her before she had the same reaction Melena had? Only one time had he dared show the depth of that darkness within him. She’d been so scared she’d pushed him off of her mid-thrust and sent him crashing to the floor. Ronon had spent three weeks sleeping on the hard floor before she’d stopped flinching any time he came near her. It had taken more than a month after that before she realized he wouldn’t repeat the incident. And he hadn’t. 

He’d handled her gently, as she deserved to be, and buried that part of himself deep in a hole, unleashing it only when he needed to let the beast in him loose to fight back against the Wraith. Beast meeting beast, blood for blood. Ronon closed his eyes once more, the tightness in his belly for more than one reason now as he began the long process of reconciling what he was going to do to the sweet-natured woman in his arms. The entire mission was less than four hours underway and already gone to complete shit. 

By the time the sharp rap at the door came and the girl’s voice called out their dinner would be served in ten minutes, Ronon had managed to cobble together a bare-bones plan. It was a plan that turned his stomach even as he fixed his gaze Becque as her eyes fluttered open. She blinked at him and then stiffened. Ronon tightened his grip on her and gave the minutest shake of his head. She relaxed instantly, the disorientation that followed sleep fading as she closed her eyes and rolled out of his arms. His eyes flicked over her form as she arched her back and stretched out the kinks of being in one position for so long. 

When her eyes opened once more and she relaxed into the soft bed, she actually grinned at him. It was a smug grin, a satisfied expression and one that made his body begin to respond instantly. He lifted a hand, finger crooking to beckon her closer. When she moved within arm’s length once more Ronon grinned. He rolled to his belly, planting one hand on one side of her body to support his weight as he threw one leg between hers, careful to keep as much distance as he could. “Sleep well, my love?” 

Her lips curved into another of those slow smiles that seemed to come so naturally to women. Her arms lifted, fingers tucking behind his neck to tug him down. “I do. Thank you for the nap, Ronon.” With that she pressed a shy, sweet kiss to his lips. 

It took everything in him not to take immediate control, staunchly reminding himself that she did this for the same reason he did, to set their observers at ease. Ronon brushed his fingers over supple curves as he breathed out the words against her lips between lazy kisses. “I’ve been thinking it through and getting out of here is probably going to be impossible. We may need a new plan and fast.” 

She was trembling in his arms, but he knew it wasn’t for the reasons he would prefer. To his surprise, she began to trail her lips over his jaw, her fingers sliding down his back as if she truly intended more. Ronon seized that moment to bow his head, lips brushing her ear as he spoke quickly. “I need to know if you’re willing to try to shorten the time they lock us in here, knowing what that will mean.” 

Suddenly, her little body was very still beneath his. She lifted her head to stare up at him, blue eyes wide. The glint of apprehension told Ronon that she knew exactly what he meant, what he was asking her. He could only imagine the sessions with Heightmeyer that would be forced on both of them when they got back if either of them dared to include this in their reports. That was if they got back. Ronon dropped his head, pressing a light kiss to the tip of her nose. He heard the answer coming softly, surprising him to his core. “Yes.” 

Ronon lifted his head and stared down at her once more. Her eyes reflected no small amount of fear, but what struck him was the absolute trust that she was showing despite that fear. A part of him wanted to tug that blue dress up and bury himself inside her then and there, on his terms. It floored him, that the desire to do so was as acute now as it had been the day they’d run into each other on the pier, or in the pantry when he’d had her tucked up against the wall. 

He could name half a dozen other times too, when he’d found himself back in his shower after one of those dinners with his fingers wrapped around his cock as he stroked himself to completion. It was always to the image of her face twisted in pleasure as he drove into her, the end coming at the mere idea of filling her. Ronon lowered his head, lips nearly touching her own, fully intending to take what he’d wanted for months when the sound of a sharp rap on the door was followed by the sound of a creak as it opened. 

****

She’d expected some kind of a reaction from him when he’d voiced the question. There was a regret in his voice that had brought her up short, shock and curiosity bringing her exploration of his body to an abrupt end. When she’d looked him in the eye, he had seemed oddly saddened. He’d shown no reaction to her answer, simply staring at her quietly before he’d leaned closer for another of those light kisses that was for show. Instead, just before his lips had made contact with hers, the knock had come, and with it, dinner delivered on a tray by the girl, Mira. 

Dinner was on the balcony, overlooking the garden. The sunlight was just beginning to tint the sky a rosy color. It would be at least another hour and a half until sunset according to the data given to her by McKay when prepping for the mission. Grace ate slowly, sitting silently beside Ronon. He didn’t seem inclined to talk, focusing his attention on the meal. The food was clearly intended for impressing as much as for sustaining. Something that tasted a lot like ham, steamed vegetables, and a salad dressed with some kind of vinegar and oil dressing. Hot rolls with butter and another pitcher of ale. 

Every time Grace dared to glance at Ronon, he stubbornly refused to make eye contact. It had to be the fact that they both knew what was coming. It didn't help that the man had all but run from her that night in the pantry. He’d barely spoken to her since. He’d made it clear that his job was to keep her safe on this mission and while it was reassuring that he took it seriously, it was also disheartening to know that the idea of sex with her was so damn depressing to him. 

It was selfish, she knew, to want some kind of reassurance, especially when there was no one to reassure him. That idea hit her out of nowhere and as she studied him from beneath her lashes, she realized that maybe that was the key. There was a lot riding on this mission, not only for Atlantis, but for both of them. If they fucked this up, it could mean a nasty outcome for both of them. It was a lot of pressure to put on a man, to keep a woman he barely knew safe. 

Grace bit her lower lip, lowering the eating sticks she was holding to the edge of the plate. She shifted in place, daring to scoot closer to him until she was able to rise to her knees and slide an arm over his shoulders, bowing her head. He stiffened for a moment, eyes narrowed in question on her face as he studied her. Grace brushed a bold kiss over the shell of his ear, and then whispered the words quietly. “I know this is difficult for you. Thank you for looking out for me.” 

With that, she settled back into her kneeling position. Ronon’s eyes remained on her face and she thought she saw a flicker of surprise, and then a slight darkening of his gaze as something undefinable passed over his features. He gave a minute nod and then cleared his throat, his voice lifting gruffly. “We’ll talk about it later, after the tour. If you’re finished eating, go and have a bath, but be quick about it.” The words were a clear dismissal, but there was no heat behind them. Instead, there was only a thread of tiredness that was unexpected and a bit disheartening. Grace rose to her feet and silently padded into the room, making her way into the bathroom. At least the physical distance gave her the room to think.


	8. Power plunders powerless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - smut. Lots of smut.

He’d been right that they were not only being watched, but also being followed. Even though Mira was friendly enough as she gave them a tour of the temple, which was eerily similar to the one on Sateda, they’d been shadowed by no fewer than three young male acolytes. There were probably more that Ronon wasn’t able to see, but with every passing minute, his tension rose a notch. 

It was when they were in the garden, paused by a kamari bush, Mira telling Becque about the different varieties the gardeners cultivated, that the Elder from before appeared, seemingly from nowhere. “Ronon, how are you finding everything so far?” The man grinned, a steely glint to his eyes. 

Ronon gave a half-smile that he knew had to be more of a grimace than an actual smile. “The room is quite comfortable, thank you. And I know Grace appreciated the bath as well.” 

Makai’s expression turned genuinely pleased at the words. “Excellent. I am very glad to hear it. Is there anything you need before the Sequestering begins? We will be happy to provide anything we are able to enhance your time of devotion to the Ancestors.” 

It was that oblique offer that drew Ronon up short. How he wanted to drive his fist into the man’s smirking mouth. Instead, he cast a glance toward Becque, thinking quickly. “I have my belt and cording for binding. If I needed more, I’d consider myself quite incapable and unworthy.” 

“Well said, lad.” The man reached out and clapped him on the shoulder, then turned toward the women who were now quietly standing off to the side, having fallen silent at the Elder’s arrival. “Grace, would you like me to provide salve of any kind? Since it seems you are already acquainted with your husband’s handiwork?” 

To Ronon’s surprise, she answered without stopping to think of it. “How thoughtful.” She cut a glance to Ronon, her expression absolutely vacant once more. “But it is Ronon’s decision to make, not mine.” It would have been the right answer, if she’d looked at him for permission to speak first. 

The Elder pounced on it like a cat on a piece of fresh meat. “Indeed it is. Sweet girl you have there, Ronon. She will be utter perfection once you have overcome that tendency to speak out of turn. Though, if that is her worst quality, you have already made more progress than some ever do. Now… I’ll let Mira escort you back to your quarters and we will see you after the sequestering is over. The Ancestors see all.” 

Ronon stiffened, his smile turning brittle as he all but hissed the expected response. “The Ancestors and their servants see and hear all.” 

Makai offered him a knowing smile, unaffected by Ronon’s display of temper. “Indeed. A good evening and a pleasant Sequestering to you both.” 

Without waiting for her to step closer, Ronon closed the distance to Becque before the Elder was completely out of earshot, hissing the words aloud. “I don’t recall giving you permission to speak to anyone.” He heard the slave gasp and then step back, even as he gripped the back of Becque’s neck and tugged her forward. He lowered his head, his voice barely a breath in her ear. “I’m sorry, Becque.” Ronon lifted his head, seeing a flash of defiance in her eyes and was grateful there wasn’t so much as a trace of genuine fear as he lifted his voice again, moving solidly into her personal space, just enough menace in his tone to make the words carry clearly through the garden. “I’m disappointed, Grace. I expected better of you, especially after the last time.” 

Her blue eyes were on his, bold and unflinching, but she injected just enough trepidation into her voice to appease the eyes of the Elder who lingered within earshot. “I’m sorry, Ronon. It won’t happen again.” 

“You’re damn right it won’t.” He left the words to linger there as he stepped away, his fingers tightening at the back of Becque’s neck, eyes landing on the girl who stood a few feet away, quietly looking at her toes. Ronon snapped the words at her, allowing his irritation with the entire thing to carry into his voice, unleashing it on her. “Why are you still standing here instead of showing us back to our room? You want to join her in what’s to come?” 

“No, Master. Forgive me, Master.” She whispered out the words and turned to lead the way without another word. Ronon’s heart went out to the pathetic creature who seemed so broken. His chest tightened at the mere idea that what he was about to do to Becque might have the same impact. Fuck. This was not how he wanted this to happen. He wanted to hear her crying out in pleasure, not pain. 

Ronon kept his pace brisk until the girl stepped aside at the door to let him enter. The moment the door closed, he heard a bolt slide home, locking them in from the outside. The sound was worse than a bullet exiting a chamber, or the hum of darts. He stood silently in the entryway, eyes flicking to the mural. On impulse, he gripped Becque closer, his voice low in her ear. “I’m so sorry.” 

Her own voice was just as quiet as she unexpectedly lifted a hand to touch his face. “It’s okay. I trust you.” 

Ronon closed his eyes, disgust rising in him as he brushed a kiss over her temple. The contact was as much to reassure himself as her. He wanted to promise her that he wouldn’t hurt her. He wanted to tell her that it shouldn’t be like this the first time between them. He wanted to go slowly, to savor her body, to feel her unraveling for him, coming apart at the seams before he slid home inside her for the first time. He wanted to tell her that when the time came to mark her as his, it would be different. He wanted to tell her how sweet it would be, to show her immeasurable pleasure. 

Instead, all he could do was stare at her, at a loss for words as he closed his eyes and banished the words he wanted to say to a place for later, when he was able to make it up to her. When he kissed her again, it was a slow touch, and he poured into it everything that he wanted to say but couldn’t, praying to whatever gods there were that she understood in some small measure that this was not him. 

****

The kiss he gave her, out of sight of the mural or whoever was undoubtedly watching, was gentle and unexpected, sending her heart hammering in her chest. It lit every nerve in her body, and sent an instinctive wave of anticipation through her. It was given without explanation, an apology from the way he breathed out against her cheek. His whisper came once more, his voice tinged with reluctance. “I wish I could promise not to hurt you.” His fingers brushed her lips lightly before he stepped back. Instantly the loss of his body heat and the solid, reassuring presence of his body near hers left her oddly bereft. 

He slid his hand to the back of her neck once more and dragged his thumb over her pulse point before he tightened his grip and strode into the room. WIthin the span of a single heartbeat he’d tightened his grip, spinning her with dizzying speed and pushed her none-too gently up against the wall, the words coming out in a growl that wasn’t Ronon at all. “When we are in public, what is my expectation from that mouth of yours? Hunh?” 

A very real tendril of apprehension began to snake through her veins as she imagined what life must be like for any woman tied to a man who would speak this way to her for real. She swallowed hard, her eyes locking to Ronon’s face as she murmured the word quietly. “Silence.” 

“Exactly.” He bared his teeth at her, and she felt his fingers tense, as if he were applying pressure to her throat, but in reality, his hand was shaking. He stepped closer, towering over her. “It’s a pity. I was almost impressed by your behavior so far. I see now my faith in you was misplaced. I can’t express how very disappointed I am.” He released her throat and stepped back, eyes glittering harshly as he uttered the command with a soft growl. “Take off the robes and loosen your hair.” 

Grace’s fingers shook as she began to fumble with the cords that held the robe gathered snugly around her body. He was absolutely no help as he stripped his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor. His voice was a harsh snarl unlike anything she’d ever heard from him before. “Move faster, woman.” 

The apprehension inexplicably began to turn to arousal. Her eyes flicked to his face as she pulled the garment over her shoulders and then lifted a hand to loosen the scarf. She let it fall to the floor unheeded as she moved faster, plucking the pins that held her hair from the thick bun. It took only another few seconds to pull the rubber band from the end and quickly undo the braid. Ronon’s bearing was visibly tense as he stepped closer, hand lifting to slide into her hair, cradling her head at the base of her skull. 

She dared to peek up at him only to find his gaze dark and angry. She knew the anger wasn’t directed at her, but still she knew she would bear the brunt of it. It was no less than she deserved for agreeing to this mission after he’d warned her, warned them all. She’d forced him into this position as surely as if she’d given the command to lock them up and watch them herself. His lips slammed down on hers, his kiss hard and greedy. She expected that. What she didn’t expect was for the gasp to escape her so quickly, nor for his tongue to invade her mouth, sweeping in and taking control. He stepped into her space once more, but this time it was entirely different. Ronon’s larger body pressed hers back to the wall as he deepened the contact, his tongue teasing and tasting. 

Liquid heat pooled in her core and Grace shook as she lifted her hands, daring to settle them at his belt. Ronon’s hips moved against hers, as they had earlier in the day, but this time it was different. It was a slow grind, one that dragged her attention to the power in his large body. He was breathing heavily when he drew back, his eyes coming to rest on her lips. His hips moved against her own once more and she was instantly aware of more than just the movement. He was hard.

Her eyes lingered on his as his fingers moved to his belt as he stepped away. He spun to place his back against the wall, his voice guttural, the words harsh. “Get on your knees.” Grace’s eyes slid up to his face only to see him staring at her, his expression utterly closed off as he left his belt to dangle from the loops of his pants. She slid to her knees in front of him, grateful for the plush carpet she knelt on. The next words he spoke were just as menacing, just as intimidating. “Undress me.” Grace swallowed, raising her hands to the button on his trousers. 

Sternly, she reminded herself that she was supposed to know what to do. And it made sense. Any woman who was truly with this man would know exactly what to do. On instinct, she knew that he wouldn’t tolerate anything else. She plucked up her courage and unbuttoned the heavy canvas trousers, tugging the zipper down. To her surprise, he wore nothing underneath and his cock sprang out the instant the zipper cleared his pelvis. 

She heard him take in a shuddering breath as she gripped the pants and pulled them downward. Strong fingers threaded through her hair as he lifted one leg and then the next, letting her tug the pants off, along with his shoes and socks until Ronon Dex stood before her, gloriously, beautifully bared. And there could be no doubt that the man was beautiful. There was no other word to describe the expanse of long, hard muscles that stood before her, tense and rigid. Her eyes landed on his cock, before flicking up to his face. His own eyes were closed and his lips parted as he breathed and out steadily. 

Grace took advantage of that moment to let her gaze linger on the hard length in front of her. She hadn’t seen a cock in person before, not up close. Instinctively she knew that what she was looking at was anything but average, just as nothing else was average about this man. Long and thick and unashamedly hard, she saw the gathering of moisture that leaked from the tip and had the insane urge to flick her tongue out and taste. His fingers tightened in her hair and she heard his voice coming once more, almost unrecognizable in its intensity. “What are you waiting for?” 

****

He’d closed his eyes only for a moment, to get control of himself. He’d not had anyone else touch him in years. The sight of Becque on her knees in front of him was nearly enough to make him lose control then and there. It was the sensation of her warm breath over the head of his cock that made his eyes snap open, staring down at her as she studied him. Her eyes were shadowed, a bit fearful, as though she had no idea what to do. Ronon frowned ever so slightly. As he spoke the words toward her, maintaining the facade of cruelty, his pulse kicked up.

Her hand lifted, fingers wrapping around his shaft and it took everything in him to hold still and not groan at the pleasure of another hand besides his own holding him. Her lips parted and her tongue darted out, dragging over the head. The movement very nearly ended him. He wanted to let her take her time, wanted to let her enjoy this, if she was able to. Some women didn’t, weren’t capable of it. But when he saw Becque draw her tongue back into her mouth, taking her time, savoring him, he knew this woman would be the death of him. 

Her fingers tightened on him, stroking lightly, as though she were afraid of hurting him. Even the sight of those fingers not coming close to closing around his girth make him all the harder. He tightened his fingers in her hair and tugged her back to his cock, grinding out the crude words that he would normally never use with her or any woman. “Suck me.” Ronon’s free hand closed around her fingers and began to stroke, showing her how he wanted to be touched. Her lips parted and she took the head in without hesitation, instantly enveloping him in wet heat. His head dropped back against the wall, eyes locking to the arches on the other side of the room. If he looked down, he would humiliate himself. 

Of all the time he’d imagined having her, never had he considered this. He’d chosen this in the hopes it would be the lesser of the evils, sparing her the worst possible scenario. But for that to work, he had to give the people watching them a show he hated. This should be private. Any other time, he would introduce her to this gently, slowly, as he would introduce her to the rest of him. Instead, he gritted his teeth and tightened his hand in her hair, his fingers falling away from her own as he began to thrust shallowly. “That’s it, Grace. Take more.” The words may not be what their interlopers wanted to hear but they were all he could give her, a genuine moment of knowledge that he didn’t want to hurt her. 

Her tongue curled around him and he heard her breath hitch. In the next instant Ronon opened his eyes and lowered his gaze, staring down at her. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen in his life. He wanted to be inside her so badly it ached. He wanted to fill her body with his essence, mark her as his own, on his own terms. The need to completely possess this woman hit him with an intensity so real it scorched him to the marrow of his bones. His fingers gripped her hair and he saw a moment of pain in her eyes before he eased off, fingers stroking her scalp even as he began to move deeper in her mouth, his thrusts settling into a steady, quicker rhythm. 

A groan ripped from his throat as he stared down at her, his eyes locked to the sight of those pretty pink lips closed around him even as the sensation of her tongue working in an effort to lick and suck was quickly drawing him toward the inevitable he wasn’t ready for. He thrust forward sharply, hitting the back of her throat. She gagged instantly, choking on him. He eased back, forcing the words from his lips with no heat. He wanted to hate this. “Maybe this is what I should use that mouth for all the time, instead of allowing you to open it to speak without permission.” 

He bit back a groan as he pulled her other hand away from his shaft, his voice lowering dangerously. “If I feel your teeth, I’ll knock them out of your fucking face. Do you understand me?” 

Her eyes were on his even as he stroked his fingers over her head, reassuring her that he wouldn’t fulfill the threat. She gave a muffled sound of understanding that sent vibrations through his cock and straight to his brain. Ronon let his head fall back against the wall as he tugged her head downward, pushing to the back of her throat once more even as he murmured the words as softly as he could. “Relax your throat so you don’t choke.” 

Ronon could feel her struggling to do just that as he eased back. He released an unsteady breath, his body shaking as he faced a battle of his own. He could feel his balls already beginning to tighten. He thrust forward again, gripping her head tightly as he forced his way into her throat fully this time. He could feel her choking, feel her panic begin to rise as he lingered for a moment and drew back, allowing her to breathe. Her eyes lifted to his face and he dragged in a ragged breath. He knew it couldn’t be good, to feel something as large as he knew he was forcing its way into your throat, cutting off your air, and yet as she gazed up at him, there was no fear, only curiosity. 

He arched a brow at her in question, even as he hissed the words out. “You like it.” The words were for the benefit of those listening, but to his astonishment, even as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, she gave the slightest nod. She had to be joking. Ronon’s cock jerked inside her mouth, and her eyes widened, not understanding what she’d just done. He thrust forward, giving her no warning as he pushed into her throat again, this time drawing out a split second later. He began to stroke into her, never stopping until her lips were stretched wide around the base of his cock, using her mouth as he would her pussy. He wanted to unleash fully, shatter her composure the way she was shattering his. 

He tightened his hand in her hair as he began to move faster. His voice was low, this time not for the people who were watching, but for her. “Fuck. Talented little fuckin’ mouth.” He was lost in sensation, his movements steady and forceful and still she took it, over and over, though he felt her struggling to breathe, to match the force he was using. A moment later, fire touched off in his belly and ripped up his spine as he unceremoniously thrust into her throat once more before he drew back. Perversely, he wanted her to taste him. He snarled out the words, locking her into place as his cock twitched in prelude to the end. “That’s it. Take it.” 

Even by the standards of the society he’d grown up in, he had more darkness than most Satedan men would admit to. More kinks, more aggression. It had only intensified in the years since he’d had an outlet for it. He felt her mouth working around him as he came, the first heated spurts of his release hitting the back of her throat. Mercilessly, Ronon locked her into place as he ground out the words. “All of it, Grace. Swallow it, just like you swallowed my cock.” 

His eyes cracked open and he stared down at her through bleary eyes as pleasure slammed into him, rolling through him as he unleashed months of need on her. He’d wanted this, wanted to mark her, to claim her. He’d wanted to fill her, and even though it wasn’t enough, it was a start. The sight of her on her knees, trying to swallow the last of his come was the single best moment of his life since he’d arrived in Atlantis. It should have been her mouth he’d pictured every time he’d stroked himself to completion in the shower, imagining her bare body. 

Ronon grunted softly, unable to remain silent as he finished, his fingers still gripping her head, locking her into place as the last twitches of his length inside her hot mouth overrode his common sense. He didn’t want to lose that heat, that slickness that cradled him. Greedily, he breathed out the words, his tone genuinely harsh, his breath ragged. “Clean me with your tongue.” 

Her eyes were wide as she lifted them to his own and he felt her mouth begin to work at him all over again. Soft licks over his softening shaft worked at counterpoint to the sweet sight of this strong woman who gave herself over so unexpectedly and so completely to the moment. He drew back, his fingers drifting over her cheek as he tugged her head back with the fingers buried in her hair. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes slightly dazed, and her lips swollen. Ronon stared down at her, his voice harder than it needed to be. “The next time you speak out of turn, it’ll be your ass I fuck instead of your mouth. Do you understand me?” 

Her face flamed, and she gave the softed nod. “I understand.” Even that quiet admission was enough to make his body tighten once more, the predatory nature he hid so well clawing to get out. Ronon released her and spoke the words simply. “Undress and get in bed before I change my mind.” 

****

Grace’s head spun, both from the oxygen deprivation and the sudden realization that she apparently possessed a superpower she’d never known about. She rose to her feet, hands lifting to the button at the back of the dress that held the neck closed. She didn’t dare look at him. He was still breathing heavily, and she felt his gaze on her, his eyes dark. 

Her throat was sore, but it was only to be expected. What had looked large when she’d first seen it was even larger when it was in her mouth. She’d not expected it to taste like, well, skin. But more than that, there was a sweet saltiness that lingered on her tongue. The sounds Ronon made as he found completion were forever branded into her awareness. It had surprised her, that she liked being handled roughly, as much as it seemed to surprise him. She knew his words had been for those watching, but she’d been unable to do anything but nod, giving him the truth as he’d hissed the question down at her. 

It had seemed to flip a switch in him. He’d begun to move almost frantically, as if goading her, testing her. She’d done the best she could, and when she’d felt that first spurt of his release hitting her tongue, she’d damn near choked from the force of it. The rest came in fast waves, filling her mouth faster than she could swallow. When she’d looked up at him, his expression was dark and satisfied, as if he were somewhere else, as though he weren’t really seeing her. 

Grace pushed the thought from her head as she pulled the dress over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She felt the heat from his body behind hers, his fingers dragging up her spine as he spoke again, his voice lower. “All of it.” 

Her face flamed. There was something intimate about being undressed in front of him that trumped even the act of being on her knees and sucking him off. Shamefully, she wanted to do it again. She reached back, unhooking her bra and sliding it off her shoulders. His fingers came to rest at the panties she wore, thumbs hooking in the fabric and pushing them down. 

She stepped out of them, and it took everything in her not to wrap her arms around her body and shield her from his view. They were supposed to be seasoned at this. She was supposed to be comfortable with his eyes and his hands on her. Instead, she didn’t even have the luxury of looking at him for reassurance. His breath was warm in her ear as he pressed his fingers to her lower back and gave her a little push. “Don’t make me say it twice.” 

Grace bowed her head and silently moved toward the bed, acutely aware that not only could Ronon see her, but whoever was on the other side of the mural could as well. She did her best to control the flush that suffused her body but there was literally nowhere to hide. As she felt the bed dip behind her, and Ronon scoot closer, her eyes flicked to the mural. She didn’t dare look directly, but instead gazed at it from beneath her lashes. 

The room was plunged into darkness as Ronon put out the lamp on the table beside the bed. He pulled the furs up from the foot of the bed, cocooning her in warmth, offering at least the illusion of privacy for a sweet moment. His body curled around hers, one hand coming to rest on her hip. Only then did she register a light kiss being brushed over the shell of her ear, his voice steadier than she expected it to be, soft and barely more than a breath. “Are you okay?” 

She considered the question for a moment, unsure of how to answer. She was okay physically, but her spirit felt like a raw, open wound. He’d shown her something she never expected to see and she was certain it wouldn’t be enough for anyone watching, to see what he’d done. The truly humiliating part was that she’d liked it. She’d liked the display of dominance, or power. She’d liked the way he unleashed his strength on her, showing her in some measure, what he was made of. What did that say about her? Tears stung at her eyes.

In the darkness she could feel him peering at her. His hand tightened on her hip and he bowed his head, his voice coming once more, and this time, the breathed words were laced with concern. “Becque, answer me.” 

Grace drew in a steadying breath, her mouth working silently for a moment before she finally found the words. “I’m fine.” 

Ronon seemed to know the lie for what it was, because the word came so very softly in her ear, laced with disbelief. “Bullshit.” 

The darkness offered illusory comfort, shielding her from the judgement she fully expected to be in his eyes if she were facing him. “I liked it.” She pushed the words out even more softly, convinced they were so quiet that Ronon might not register them, even so close to her as he was. 

There was a moment that seemed to stretch onward for years before she felt him shift beside her, edging closer as he stretched out long legs and bent his head until she could feel his breath on the top of her head. He was not a stupid man. He could read her like a book, it appeared, even in the dark and the silence.

She felt him move, his hand lifting from her hip and coming to rest on her face. Grace had never imagined that this would be the outcome of day one of the mission. He’d warned them all. She’d liked it. What kind of deviant was she? Tears of humiliation stung at her eyes as she now realized she’d exposed far more to him than he needed to know. It was hard to maintain the wall of professionalism when she’d had his cock down her throat not fifteen minutes before. 

Ronon surprised her by nudging her onto her back completely, his forehead coming to rest against hers for a moment, though he didn’t speak. To her shock, he settled in beside her once more, and draped an arm over her waist. To her infinite relief, he let the matter drop. His lips brushed the shell of her ear in another of those bone-melting, warm whispers. “Get some rest.”


	9. When the monster stops growing, it dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clear flavors of Gor creep in here. Enjoy the guilty pleasure of dominant Ronon. I know I do.

Sleep was something that didn’t come easily, and when it did, it was the same kind of sleep he’d gotten when he was a Runner. Light and barely more than a doze. More restless than restful. This time though, it was just his life on the line. Becque had far more to lose than he did. The sound of something scraping on the other side of the wall, soft and muffled, then the sound of voices speaking made Ronon stiffened and he was instantly alert. 

The girl had been right. There was someone on the other side of the opposite wall. He could make out the muffled buzzing of conversation, then the soft sound of laughter before there was a creaking, as if someone were taking a seat in a chair. Ronon tightened his arm around Becque in reflex. How long would they have before whoever had settled in on the other side of the wall lost patience? Ronon’s gaze flicked to the arches. It was still dark, but the first tendrils of dawn were just beginning to paint the sky shades of faint purples and pinks. 

The sound of the door unlocking softly made his fingers twitch, and not for the first time he wished he’d not stashed his gun in the backpack that still lay untouched in the corner of the room with his coat draped over it. Soft footsteps preceded the quiet voice that cut through the lingering darkness of the room. “Master? The Elder wishes you to join him in the prayer room immediately. He said to tell you it will not take long.” 

Ronon turned his head to regard Mira, whose face bore a bruise. Despite it, she was smiling gently. He stared for a moment and then nodded. “No one will enter this room while I’m gone.” It was a statement of fact, the implications of his words clear. If anyone touched Becque, all bets were off. He didn’t want to leave her there, alone, but refusal would only make matters stickier and it was already complicated enough. 

He slipped from the bed and reached to pick up his trousers from the floor, slipping them on without bothering with the belt. He turned to follow the girl, slipping his shirt on as he padded after her barefoot. The hallway was deserted, save for a tired looking guard stationed outside the door of the room he’d been assigned to with Becque. It only confirmed his suspicion that Solen had been right. There were only two ways out of here. As one of them, or in chains. 

Mira led him through the next door, offering further confirmation that the mural was nothing more than a facade. Once inside, Ronon realized it wasn’t even a full wall. The mural was on some kind of fabric that was virtually sheer from this side, offering a perfect view of the room he was sharing with Becque. It was so sheer that only the layers of paint offered any opacity. Some kind of fabric stretched tight around wooden frames, offering the appearance of a wall, but with nothing more than studs to hold it in place. The sight of it sickened him instantly. He’d been right in suspecting that they could hear almost everything and instantly, he was grateful for the girl’s little bit of rebellion, the surreptitious warning she’d given him the day before. He had no doubt that it would have cost her dearly if she’d been caught giving it. 

“Ah. Ronon. I trust you rested well?” The Elder’s voice was far too cheerful for so early in the morning. When Ronon directed his attention to the man, it took all his self-control not to instantly leap on him and break Makai’s neck. 

“Well enough.” Ronon intoned quietly as he stepped forward, watching as the man gestured to the seat across the table from him. The table was laden with tea and fruit, a light breakfast for the most perverse workday in the known universe. 

He took a seat, shaking his head to refuse the tea as the man offered it, waiting for Makai to speak once more. The Elder turned his gaze toward the screen and where Becque lay on the bed. “As I said yesterday, the sequestering is a time of reflection, observation, and instruction. I was disappointed the woman spoke without permission, but quite impressed with your handling of it. Better uses for her mouth, indeed.” There was a cruel twinkle in the man’s eye as he speared a piece of the fruit with a knife and lifted it to his lips. Ronon wanted to shove that knife straight through the back of the fucker’s throat and into his brain stem. It would be an instant kill. 

Instead, he remained silent, schooling his face into the same neutral expression he’d frequently used when enduring a lecture at the Academy when he’d been a lad. Predictably Makai continued, “How long have you been married?” 

Ronon was ready for this, grateful that Becque had insisted they have at least a cover story they both knew in the event of this sort of thing. “Not quite half a year.” 

The older man nodded. “And you were married in the ways of her people, I assume?” The man gestured toward Ronon’s hand with the blade he held, then speared another piece of the fruit. “I noticed that neither of you bear the scars of the marriage rites.” 

“We were.” Ronon hadn’t forgotten about it. There was simply no time for the cut to be given, for scars to form. It would have raised more suspicion than their absence. And it wasn’t something he’d wanted to explain to Becque. 

The man stared at him a moment, as if awaiting further explanation, however Ronon didn’t elaborate. Makai shrugged a moment later. “No doubt she will understand when you perform the rite today. It is crucial that the council be given no reason to invalidate your claim to her, especially when she is not yet with child.” 

Anger ripped through him. Ronon’s jaw tightened for a moment and he narrowed his gaze on the Elder. “I decide when she has a child. It is no one else’s concern.” 

“Perhaps on Sateda, Friend. But this is not Sateda.” Though the words were quiet, they held a thread of firmness. “Especially when there are so few of us left with common blood, now more than ever, it is important that our numbers increase. We have been fortunate in that cullings so far have been minor, confined to the outlying villages. We adhere to the tenants of the faith, and that adherence has pleased the Ancestors enough that they have protected the temple and surrounding city. But with Sateda gone, it rests on the Makanesh to continue the legacy and great work begun by our people so long ago. By requesting to join us, you are committing to sharing in that great work.”

Ronon narrowed his eyes on the man. The Elder continued, and Ronon wasn’t sure whether to be impressed by the man’s obvious disregard for the value of his own life, or if he were just that stupid. “Sateda serves as proof that even with strong family threads, stretching across an entire continent, a thriving population is not enough to save a world from destruction.”

“You know this. Our forebears warned yours that to defy the guidance of the Ancestors would lead to grave consequences, Specialist Dex.” The use of his rank didn’t go unnoticed. It was a term of respect wrapped in words that were slanderous to the memory of what Sateda had been. And still the Elder spoke without caution, as if he were certain that his claims were entirely factual. Ronon’s blood was boiling and his entire body was tense, rigid. 

“And though I know this is not what you wish to hear, responsibility for the destruction of Sateda does not lie only with the Wraith. It lies with Sateda itself as well. It was a hedonistic, secular place. Though your people held a high regard for honor, duty, and strength, it also bore a low esteem for tradition and faith. This is no fault of your own. You are a product of that corrupt environment, but by coming here, you have begun your journey to reclaiming what is good and right as a Satedan man.” Ronon had heard all this before, when he’d been on duty rotation here. The Acolytes frequently regarded Satedan soldiers as possible converts. They were rarely successful, but they tried. And Ronon, at this moment, wanted nothing more than to gut this man with his bare hands and watch him bleed for the things he said about his beloved Sateda.

The Elder was staring at him now, clearly expecting some kind of response. Ronon’s gaze flicked to the panel once more, to the shadowy form that was Becque’s little body curled up in the bed, sleeping on, oblivious to the shit they were in, shit that was getting deeper by the minute. “And if I said I wanted to walk out of here, with her. What would you do?” Ronon uttered the words with as much curiosity as he could muster. 

The older man offered him a smile. “We would hope to avoid that scenario, if at all possible. But of course, your marriage has been acknowledged as a courtesy, though it does not meet the technical legal requirements here. It would be down to the council to rule on its validity. We can’t allow a man to walk out of here with a woman that’s not truly his, after all.” 

He’d been right. They never should have come here. The anger now became white-hot rage. This time, he knew exactly where to direct… right at McKay. He’d trusted McKay, trusted Weir. And neither of them had trusted him enough to take him at his word. Ronon clenched his teeth as he rose from the chair. Becque slept on, oblivious to the machinations of the perverted old man, the council he represented, and the whackjobs on this planet. 

There was more to it. Suddenly, it all made perfect sense and Ronon’s stomach dropped, his anger turning to near nausea as he realized this was so much more than just a religious nut. This was political. “Stop playing games, old man.” Ronon uttered the words quietly. “I haven’t seen a single Satedan since I set foot on this planet. So either none of us ever passes your test, or something else is going on.”

The Elder actually chuckled, rising to his feet. “Very well.” He stepped forward, coming to stand beside Ronon. “I knew you were astute, Dex.” 

Ronon folded his arms over his chest, turning to face the old man. The Elder studied him for a moment and then smiled. It was a pleased smile. “The Satedans are here, of course. Several dozen at our last count. We’ve granted them a training ground up in the mountains. They live there, quite peacefully, with their families, under our watchful gaze of course. We truly are eager to welcome you to our numbers, along with them. And you truly must be committed to the cause to be accepted. Controlling a woman is very similar to controlling a squadron, wouldn’t you agree?” 

There it was again. The sickening realization of what the man was getting at. “You’ve made every Satedan who comes here subject their women to your... standards… to prove their worth to fight the Wraith?” Ronon spoke slowly. 

The Elder shrugged. “Some who come alone are granted a different sort of trial. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good. Our ways ensure the Ancestors remain pleased with both our devotion to them and that we are strong enough to avoid the same fate as Sateda.” 

Ronon drew in a slow breath, bracing himself to keep from reaching out to strangle the man where he stood. “How many figure it out?” This was not just the subjugation of women. It was the conquest of his own people. People who had come seeking refuge only to find themselves locked in this place with no way out. 

Makai shrugged. “They all eventually come to understand that this is bigger than them. They are given the chance to claim eventual victory over the Wraith for the right reasons, and to pay penance for their failure. In time, the Ancestors will gift us with what we need to end the scourge of the Wraith once and for all. The Satedans among us know this day will come and so they keep the faith. The only question I truly still have about you, Ronon, the one thing I can’t seem to decide yet… is if you have the burning desire to do what it takes to become a part of something bigger than yourself and redeem your soul in the eyes of the Ancestors in the process.” 

Insanity. It was fucking insanity. Ronon’s jaw clenched as his mind spun with this new knowledge. The women, he now understood, were the test. They were tools, nothing more. It shouldn’t have surprised him, given how far these people were obviously willing to go. The beginnings of a plan began to form in his head. A way out. He had the upper hand, for the first time since they’d gotten here. “You know who I am.” He didn’t even pose this as a question. He didn’t have to.

“Of course we do.” Makai confirmed with a nod. “The Runner who got away. We all know your name, Ronon. You would be our most valuable asset. The single highest ranking Satedan among the Makanesh. I won’t deny that I was astounded that the Ancestors would lead you here. But none of us can escape their plans for us, Ronon. You come seeking refuge, but you could have so much more than that. You can have vengeance… for Sateda.” 

His stomach turned again. He exhaled, the tendrils of understanding solidifying and forming more clarity with each passing second. “What do you want from me?” 

The Elder offered a genuine smile now. “I want you to succeed in your sequestering so that you may join us and fulfill the path the Ancestors have set you on. I am prepared to hand you everything you need to do that. Finish the sequestering successfully and you’ll be out of here by nightfall and on your way to join your brethren, your woman with you.” 

Out by nightfall. Those words stuck with him. Out by nightfall and Becque with him. Ronon’s plan began to take a more solid form now. He glanced at Makai and gave a nod. The older man smiled, this time in obvious pleasure, much like a cat who’d caught a bird. Ronon half-expected a feather to appear from nowhere, dangling from the man’s lip. “I will arrange for Elder Ridak to witness the Rites. I will send Mira to fetch you both in one hour.” 

Ronon gave a terse nod. “I’ll require absolute privacy while we bathe and I prepare her.” 

To his surprise, Makai gave a nod. “Of course. You have my word.” 

The word of these people would never be enough. Ronon glanced to the man once more, narrowing his eyes. “If you’re playing me, I’ll gut you right there on the floor of the temple.” 

“I’d expect no less.” There was no surprise in the other man’s eyes, only a glimmer of greed that was so blatant it made Ronon’s fingers itch for a knife. Instead, he turned for the door in silence and pulled it open, stepping back into the hallway where the girl waited. 

****

It was nearly twenty minutes later that Ronon realized he was stalling. He’d dismissed the girl, run the deep bath full of near scalding water, and now had to wake Becque and somehow get her into the tub, with him, so they could talk. Ronon hated talking more now than he ever had before. He moved to the bed, staring down at Becque’s little form. She was relaxed in sleep, as she had been the day before, sleeping deeply and quietly. The depth of her trust in him was on display again as she slept. Her faith in him unwarranted and undeserved, especially after the previous night.

Even now, the memory of her mouth on him, unexpectedly eager and curious, made his cock begin to thicken. The quiet admission that she’d enjoyed the act had only made it harder to drop the subject. when all he’d wanted to do was pull her thighs open and plunge into her. Ronon closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. He had a way out, a plan, and he needed her on board. There was no room for flights of fancy, not now. Aware that the Elder, or least an Acolyte was likely still watching from the other side of the mural, Ronon reached out to brush a lock of dark hair from Becque’s face. 

Her eyes fluttered open as he braced a knee on the bed and leaned over her, his fingers brushing over her bare shoulders in a caress, head bowing to deliver a light kiss to her lips. She appeared startled for a moment, her eyes wide and wild before registering who he was and where they were. It took less than a second for understanding to dawn in blue eyes. Becque smiled up at him as if she meant it. That smile didn’t help matters any, especially when he’d tasted those lips, that mouth. Her lips were lush and perfectly formed, just as the curves he’d seen bared for a few precious seconds before she’d scurried beneath the covers the night before. Truly, it had been a form of torture Ronon was grateful the Wraith had never considered, the torment of laying next to a naked woman, aching for her, and knowing it would spell disaster to do more then simply sleep. 

Ronon schooled his expression into one of careful neutrality. He needed her to continue to trust him. He took a seat on the bed beside her, leaning over her as he braced one hand on the other side of her body. “I ran a bath for us. Put your hair up and come join me.” 

He watched as she stretched, arm’s rising over her head as she arched her back, releasing a small sound of contentment, as if she’d slept incredibly well. And maybe she had. Becque stared up at him for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you.” 

Ronon leaned forward to capture her lips in a light kiss, then rose to his feet and retreated to the corner of the room to pick up the backpack containing their things. He left her there in the bed, more to give her the illusion of privacy than anything else as he dropped the pack on the bathroom floor, well away from the water. He stood in the center of the bathroom, eyes closed for a moment. The dread that had settled in his stomach the day before was still there, intensifying by the second. 

Resolutely, Ronon stripped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He heard Becque moving in the other room and froze for a second. He didn’t dare look back toward the door, knowing that if he did, the complex ball of emotions would be bare for her to see. Apprehension that this way out was only going to make matters worse if the least little thing went wrong, desire that he couldn’t entirely squash, a need to protect her. The worst of it all was that Ronon could mitigate none of these emotions. When he heard her behind him, he spoke the words a bit more tersely than he intended. “Get in the tub.” 

Once more, he turned his back, allowing her at least a temporary illusion of privacy as he slid the door closed and flipped the latch down into place to lock it. He waited until he heard the splashing of the water fall silent before he tipped his head, pressing his ear to the door. There was nothing from the other side. It was the safest they would be. The entire bathroom was tiled and unless someone was directly on the other side of the door, no one was listening. For the first time since they’d gotten to this forsaken place, Ronon began to relax just a little. 

He pushed his trousers over his hips and headed for the tub, not making eye contact as he climbed in beside her, taking a seat at the opposite end. Thankfully the tub was deep enough that the water reached his chest, offering some small measure of protection from exposure thanks to the bubbles. Ronon didn’t give a shit about bubbles, but he did care that Becque was focused, which she wouldn’t be if she were shaking in fear. 

He averted his gaze, edging closer to her in the tub, where she sat with her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She glanced toward the door, then around the bathroom, and back to him. Ronon gave a nod in answer to her silent question. “We can talk, quietly.” 

He saw the moment she visibly relaxed and in a bolt of awareness, he realized it wasn’t him she was afraid of. It was these people. That sent a fresh awareness curling through his belly. Resolutely, Ronon tamped down on that and spoke just as softly. “How are you feeling?” 

****  
The quietly spoken words shouldn’t have surprised her, but they did, just as they had the night before. Something about this place made it hard to remember just what her non-existent relationship with this man was like outside these walls. He’d never been anything more than courteous. Even when he looked at her with that unreadable expression during dinners, he only ever answered her questions with mild politeness.

Ronon was known for his temper, it burned quick and hot, and when directed in a fight could and did obliterate anything in his path. His tongue was sharp with those who had earned it, but otherwise, he was quiet and reserved. In that moment, Grace wished she could read him better, and know what he was thinking. It wasn’t likely he was going to tell her what he was feeling. There was one thing she knew about him, for an absolute certainty. Ronon Dex was an intensely private man. “I’m okay.” She dared to glance at him, her eyes flicking to his face.

He was studying her intently, and then seeming satisfied with the answer. Grace trained her gaze on the colorful mosaic on the wall behind his head, listening intently to the rumbling baritone. “The Elder from yesterday summoned me a while ago. I can’t explain it all right now. He was happy enough with the…” He paused for a moment and to her surprise, his voice hardened marginally, “...display last night. He took it as the proof they wanted.” 

Grace relaxed marginally, even as her stomach tightened at the reference to the night before. Ronon didn’t seem to expect a response, continuing quietly. “There isn’t enough time to go into the entire conversation, and it doesn’t matter now. What does matter is that I can get us out of here by tonight.” 

She felt his body aligning with hers as he moved closer and when she dared to look at him again, his handsome face betrayed overt hesitation. “What is it?” Grace scarcely dared breathe out the words any louder than a whisper. 

“I’m going to need you to keep trusting me. I don’t think they expect me to hurt you again, at least I hope I’m right about that.” He held her gaze steadily. “They’re coming to fetch us in about half an hour. He isn’t satisfied with…” He averted his eyes for a moment and then shook his head, obviously uncomfortable with the content of the conversation. Ronon’s voice came quietly. “We’re going to have to go into the temple and when we do, I need you to keep trusting me, Becque.” 

Her forehead drew into a tight frown of apprehension. “That’s the second time you’ve said that. I’m going to need more than that, Ronon.” 

She saw his jaw tighten as he scooted back toward the other end of the tub, reaching for a cloth and the container of soap perched on the edge. She watched in patient silence as he reached for the cloth and wet it, wringing it out in one hand and applying the soap with the other before he spoke again. “There isn’t enough time. I will explain it later, when we’re out of here and it’s safe. But for now… what I need you to do is focus on trying to stay calm and level-headed. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing.” 

The words did nothing to ease the knot in her stomach. He thrust the cloth at her. “Bathe first, but be quick about it. Then while I bathe, I want you to use the equipment you have to try to determine if there really is a power source at all. I don’t want us to have gone through all of this and have it end up being a complete failure.” 

Grace gave a nod and reached for the cloth. To her surprise, he reached out and rested a hand on the small of her back beneath the water and gave her a little push forward. “I’ll face the other way.” 

It was a small thing, but it did more to reassure her than he could possibly know. She found her voice as she began to bathe. “Can you tell me what’s happening?” The tub was enormous and deep, but she was still acutely aware of his presence just inches away as she began to bathe, as quickly and quietly as she could. 

His voice was still low drifting toward her over her shoulder. “Like I said, it’s too much to go into right now. But all you need to do is follow my lead. Can you do that?” 

When she glanced back at him, she was surprised to see that he’d folded his long body into something almost pretzel like, obviously giving her as much room as he could manage. It was as if he’d become a completely different person than the one he’d been the night before. Was he somehow capable of compartmentalizing that deeply? Or was there something she was missing? 

The sight of his bare back, the scars from where the tracking device had been, and his efforts to remove it, still stood out in stark contrast to the otherwise unmarred skin made her fingers itch to touch him. She had the insane urge to stroke those scars, to try to soothe away some of the nightmare that had been his life for so long. Either way, she didn’t have time to consider it further as he jerked his head toward the towel rack. “I really do need to bathe too. You should get started. We have maybe half an hour before they come for us.” 

Right. Mission. Danger. Naked Ronon fantasies would have to wait. Grace flushed a brilliant scarlet as she realized she’d managed to get off track. Sweet Jesus, one encounter with the man under duress and she was already turning into one of those twits from the base who sighed like schoolgirls every time he walked by. She wrung the cloth out and set it aside, rising from the tub. It seemed ridiculous that he still kept his back to her until she had dried off and was securely wrapped in the towel. She’d had his cock in her throat. If that didn’t blur the lines of professionalism, what else would?

****  
Ronon reached for a clean washcloth and the soap, waiting until he’d heard the zipper on the backpack and the rustling of fabric before he began to bathe. The hot water did little to relax him. He’d found a way out, but the cost was still going to be high. He bowed his head, tying his hair high up on his head with two of his dreads, turning to look as he ran the cloth over one leg. Becque seemed to be ignoring him. She’d dressed in the second dress he’d plucked from her closet. A simple, somber pink affair that made her look even younger than she probably was. It reached mid-calf, and had short sleeves. It flowed around her slender form like a cloud of silk, but it wasn’t silk. It was something sheer, over an underlayer that skimmed her body. 

“How old are you, Becque?” The words popped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. 

She glanced up at him, as if startled, blue eyes betraying confusion. “I’ll be twenty-five next month. Why?” 

Ronon watched as she attached a cord to the tablet, and then some kind of a scanner to the cord. The truth was he had no idea why he was asking. “Curiosity.” 

She tapped the screen, fingers flying, without even looking up. “Weird. But okay. What about you?” 

He frowned faintly as he watched her work, her nimble hands balancing the table on her bent knees as she lifted the scanner and switched it on. It gave a soft beep and then a low hum. “I turned twenty-eight three days after Beckett removed the tracking device.” She actually did look up then, blinking at him in surprise. It had been more than a week later that he’d remembered. 

Ronon held her gaze for a moment, watching as her lips curved into a smile. “So now I know when your birthday is, next year, I’ll get you a gift.” He frowned faintly but was kept from asking her what she meant by a soft series of beeps. “Scan’s done.” She announced softly, redirecting her gaze to the tablet. “This can’t be right.” 

“What?” He leaned forward, bracing an arm on the edge of the tub. “What is it?” 

“There’s an energy source, all right.” Ronon watched as her pretty face furrowed into a frown. “But I have no idea what it is. It’s not consistent with the kind of energy signatures of a ZPM.” 

Ronon rose to his feet, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around his waist and stepping carefully down the steps, moving to crouch beside her. He looked over her shoulder, but what he saw on the screen meant absolutely nothing to him. “I don’t understand.” 

“Neither do I. The power levels are near ZPM output levels, but it’s fluctuating. Spikes all over the map.” She shook her head and began to shut down the tablet. “I’m a social scientist. I have zero skills in this area. I can run the equipment and I can gather the data, but identifying the kind of power source it is? All I know is what McKay told me to look for to tell whether it’s a ZPM or not. He taught me how to tell power level, directionality and that’s about it.” 

Blue eyes pinned him with a reluctance that was clearly hesitant. “Directionality?” He questions softly. 

Becque nodded slightly, then redirected her gaze to the tablet, staring at it with an intensity he’d seen in McKay enough to know that he wouldn’t like what came next. “It’s coming from beneath us.” 

“Like the first floor?” He leaned closer, staring at the tablet once more, as if the squiggles would suddenly make more sense than they had fifteen seconds before. Which they didn’t. 

“No. Like... underground. This equipment is extremely limited in range. It can’t pick up anything more than fifty or so meters away. That’s part of why we needed to get into the temple. It would be the most obvious place for a power source, but it’s just on the outer edge of the detectable range. So there’s ... “ 

Ronon understood, instantly. “You’re saying there’s some kind of underground facility?” 

Becque nodded. “There has to be.” 

He lifted his eyes to her face for a moment. “Pack it up. We’ll take it back to McKay and let him figure it out. We are not going to hunt it down.” 

Becque stared at the screen a moment longer. “Ronon, we’re so close.” 

“No.” Ronon’s voice hardened despite himself. “It’s too dangerous. If this is what we’re already going through up here, on the surface, what do you think will happen if we go down there?” He saw the idea of what he was saying register, saw her pale slightly. He hated making a point this way, but he forged onward. “The best thing to do is take the results of the scan to McKay and let him figure out what it is. Then if he wants to bring a team back, he can convince Weir of it. But I can tell you this. No power source is worth anyone from Atlantis setting foot on this planet again.” 

He watched as her jaw tightened and her lips parted in protest. Ronon lifted a hand to silence her. “Your life is not a plaything and it’s not worth any kind of fucking power source, ZPM or not. My answer is no.” She opened her mouth to protest and Ronon gave a firm shake of his head. “Do not make me repeat myself, Becque.” Ancestors help him, the sight of her immediate nod and acquiescence did things to him. This place was dangerous to them both, in more ways than one. Especially not since this woman would go from an idea to his in less than an hour.

Ronon watched as she nodded. “Okay.” Her voice was soft as she began to power down the equipment. “Fair enough.” The relief was instant, and almost as intense as the ridiculous urge to kiss her. 

He rose to his feet and reached for the bag, pulling out the change of clothing he’d brought. “Good. Pack up.”


	10. Trust instinct to the end, even though you can give no reason.

The interior of the main room of the temple wasn’t what Grace had anticipated. Whereas the outside of the building reminded her of something out of Byzantine architecture, the interior was far simpler than she’d anticipated. The tiled floor was cool beneath her bare feet, and though she still wore the robes and the headscarf, there was a breeze from the massive arched windows that soared up on either side of the massive room. There were no images, but rather words carved over the archways in the same lettering that Grace now knew to be Satedan. 

Beside her, Ronon stood tall and proud in the middle of the temple, gazing around. She watched as he stepped away, spinning in a slow circle. There was something in his eyes that looked distinctly stricken. Grace glanced around, trying to see what he saw, but came up empty. They were alone and so she stepped closer, curious to know what he was noticing that she missed. “What is it? What’s wrong?” 

“The family names of the tribes who were sworn protectors of the original temple on Sateda.” He spoke quietly, lifting a hand to point to the lettering above the arches. “Var. Sur. Invan.” He still spun, dropping his hand as he came to a stop, facing one in particular. “Dex. Karishta. Mor.” 

Grace frowned as what he said sunk in. “Dex. Your family?” 

His eyes traced over the lettering of one name in particular as she stepped closer. “Before the last great culling, all the ruling tribes gave the oldest son of their family to the temple. They were raised as warriors, sworn to protect it and what it represented. My family was one of them. It was one of the ways they used to try to keep the peace between tribes. Didn’t work well most of the time.” 

“Much of the time they killed one another.” A new voice stated from nearby. “We keep the tradition to remind ourselves of the violence we, as a people, are capable of, and of the cost of that violence no matter who we unleash it upon.”

Ronon’s gaze swung to the newcomer and Grace instantly dropped her eyes to Ronon’s bare toes. No shoes in the temple. Not even socks. The man stepped closer, and Grace peered up beneath her lashes, keeping her head bowed as she studied the man. To her surprise he wasn’t that much older than either of them, perhaps in his mid-thirties. He was shorter than Ronon by several inches, and well-built, wearing the robes of the Elders.

He came to a stop just in front of them, inclining his head respectfully. “I am Ridak. You must be Ronon and Grace.” 

Grace slipped her fingers to Ronon’s belt loop, gripping it lightly. Somehow, over the last 24 hours the gesture had become familiar and reassuring, an anchor in a frightening and chaotic place she was having trouble understanding. Ronon didn’t answer the man directly, instead merely gave a nod. Ridak gestured to the far end of the room. “Come, we should get started.” 

He led the way to the massive altar that reminded Grace vaguely of the altar in the St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square. Massive columns soared upward with arched windows above it. More beautifully scripted Satedan lettering forming three distinct words in gold lettering, framed by yet another massive arch with a pastoral landscape painted beside it. When Grace’s gaze moved from the display to Ronon’s face, he was staring at it, his expression stony. “It’s identical down to the last thing, isn’t it?” 

Ridak’s smile was mild. “Honor. Duty. Sacrifice.” It had to be the words written on the wall. He turned toward the large altar itself. Grace watched curiously as the Elder reached for the pitcher on the table and poured water into the basin beside it. He produced a small double-edged dagger and a rolled piece of parchment from his robes and placed both down, aligned them with the basin. Each movement was militaristically precise. He reached out to move a quill pen and inkpot containing black ink next to the page. “Are you ready?” 

Grace still didn’t speak, but her stomach knotted at the sight of the dagger and the paper both. Blood and a signature. Something was happening that was important in the eyes of the temple, and from the stony expression on Ronon’s face, he knew exactly what was going on. Ronon gave a singular nod. Ridak smiled pleasantly. It was a genuine expression that reached kind brown eyes. Whoever this man was, he was genuinely devoted to this faith and to whatever was happening here. “Face one another before the altar please.” 

She slipped her hand free of Ronon’s belt loop and turned to face him, lifting her eyes to stare up at him, not even bothering to hide the question in her eyes. Ridak nodded once more. “Well then, Ronon, you may begin.” 

She swallowed hard, suddenly nervous for reasons she didn’t entirely understand. Follow his lead, he’d told her. But that was all he’d told her. Ronon stared at Ridak for a moment before he asked, “The Satedan version is all I know.” 

Ridak gave another inclination of his head. “It’s very close to our own, so yes, it will be accepted and recognized.” 

Ronon closed his eyes for a moment and then turned to face her as well. He lifted one large hand and placed it one top of her head, his voice low. “Before the Ancestors and my forefathers, I claim this woman, Grace Becque, as my own.” 

It took everything in her to remain still, but her face must have still reflected surprise. Ronon’s eyes were on her own a moment later, his voice softening a bit. “May the ancestors bless this woman that I claim as my own and may I prove myself worthy of her keeping.” 

The bottom was threatening to drop out of her stomach just then as the weight of Ronon’s hand left the top of her head, and both hands came to frame her face. Her eyes widened for a moment before he brushed downward gently over her brows and she closed her eyes on instinct. The touch of his thumbs were gentle as he spoke once more. “May the ancestors bless these eyes of this woman that I claim as my own, that they only ever see the truth, that I am her protector, her lover, and her friend.” 

A moment later, the light pressure was gone and when she opened her eyes once more, Ronon’s gaze was as steady as his voice as he cupped her chin, his thumb resting lightly over her lips. “May the ancestors bless these lips of this woman that I claim as my own, that they only ever speak the truth, that I am her protector, her lover, and her friend.” 

It was at that moment that she began to understand what was happening here. A second later, his fingertips came to rest lightly on her chest, just over her heart. “May the ancestors bless this heart of this woman that I claim as my own, that it may know the truth with every beat, that I am her protector, her lover, and her friend.” 

The bottom dropped out of her stomach in the next moment as his hand moved to slide around the back of her neck, stepping closer. Ronon’s forehead bent to meet her own, and she felt the heat of his other hand as it came to rest at the small of her back. His breath was warm and steady as his words came without hesitation. “May the ancestors bless the whole being of this woman that I claim as my own, that she may know the truth, that I am her protector, her lover, and her friend.” 

Grace swallowed hard, her teeth clenching as she struggled to process what he was saying. It was a wicked thing to do, to require of him, and it only drove home just how innately cruel this society was in it’s demands. She wanted to reach for him, to stop him, but didn’t dare. The risk was simply too great to them both. He spoke again, his fingers flexing against the small of her back, shaking on the nape of her neck. “May I prove myself worthy of her, that her body, faith, and love be yielded to me willingly. May I prove myself worthy of her, that she blesses me sons and daughters. May I prove myself worthy of her, that she will seek no other as I shall seek no other.” 

Grace closed her eyes, fighting back tears of horror for this man, this innately good man who was being pushed to this unthinkable act that should have been his choice, with a woman he loved. This was not something he should be enduring in this moment to get them out of here. It made a mockery of every word he spoke. It was tearing her apart for him, and she had no idea how he was so calm. His voice was even softer now, strangely tender with something she didn’t recognize or understand. “Before the ancestors and my forefathers, I claim this woman as mine and mine alone.” 

When Ronon lifted his head and stepped back, his arms dropped from around her and once more, she was startled to find that she instantly missed the solid presence of his body next to hers. He reached out and Ridak delivered the dagger into his hand. She watched as he reached for her right hand and cupped it in his palm. The movement of the dagger over the heel of her palm was swift and oddly painless for a few seconds, until she saw the blood there and a second later felt the blossoming of pain. 

She held her hand still when Ronon released it, watching in morbid fascination as he drew it over his own left hand, in the same spot. He yielded the dagger to the Elder once more and reached out, lifting his hand and intertwining their fingers together as he pressed their palms together, his voice coming once more. By the joining of blood, you are now Grace Dex, wife of Ronon Dex.”

He stepped forward once more, his hand rising to slide to the back of her neck once again. Ridak’s voice came quietly. “Grace, before the ancestors and the forefathers of Clan Dex, do you understand that you have been claimed by Ronon Dex, that you are now his and his alone?”

Her eyes lifted to Ronon’s face and he gave a minute nod. She now understood what he’d meant when he’d asked her to follow his lead. Her voice was unsteady, despite her desperate wish that it weren’t. “Yes.” 

“And do you accept the claim that he makes over you?” Ridak’s voice held a sentimental note that surprised her.

Grace drew in a breath to steady herself and then spoke again, a single word. “Yes.” 

A moment later, Ridak’s voice cut through her shock and confusion once more. “On behalf of the Elder of the temple and as liaison to the Makanesh High Council, I hereby confirm the marriage has been solemnized by the witnessing of the claiming and the scarring. Ronon, Grace, step forward to mark the registration, please.” 

Ronon gripped her hand as he led her forward, the sticky, drying blood gathered on their joined hands staining the page as he pressed them down onto one of the pages. A moment later, he released her hand and gestured to the basin of water. “Wash the blood off before we sign.” 

It was all strangely bureaucratic now, as she rinsed her hand free of the blood that was both her own and Ronon’s then accepted the linen bandage from the Elder and pressed it to her palm. A moment later, she watched as Ronon did the same. He gripped the quill, dipping it into the ink and she watched as he signed his name, or what she assumed his name was in Satedan lettering, just over the bloodstain. He pushed the quill into her left hand, and it touched her in a stupid way that he even knew she was left-handed. He paused for a moment and then glanced to Ridak. “You have a spare piece of paper?” 

The Elder frowned for a moment before he nodded and dug into the depths of his robes and produced a blank sheaf of papers with drawings and sketches and doodles on them. He plucked one off and handed it to Ronon, who placed it down on the table beside the parchment and plucked the quill from her hand once more. He quickly formed marks on the page, and then moved it to align it to the blank space just above where she needed to sign. His voice was soft as he leaned closer. “The trick is to keep your hand up, and keep the pen moving. Just copy what I wrote.” 

For the first time, curiosity overrode his instructions and she stared at the characters. “What is it?” 

Ronon’s eyes were on hers once more and for the first time all day, she saw a glimmer of his dry humor coming through. “It’s your name.” 

“Oh.” She’d never felt so stupid. She’d literally just watched him sign his own and she resisted the urge to kick him in the shin as she heard him chuckle. She leaned over, carefully gripping the quill, but still managing to drip as she painstakingly did her best to copy the marks he’d made. It had to look like a four year old had done it. But when she lifted her eyes to his face in question, she noted that he looked oddly pleased with her efforts. “Not bad.” 

“It’s horrible.” She commented softly, as if Ridak weren’t even in the room. 

Ronon snorted. “Yeah. It’s really bad. Sorry. I can’t even say it with a straight face.” 

The Elder chuckled as he reached to take the quill from her and signed his own name on the document. “A copy will be filed with the temple scribes and the original returned to you with my seal affixed by lunch.” 

Grace sobered instantly. She’d almost forgotten the man was there. For all his good-natured presentation, she had to assume it was a facade. She fell silent and tucked her fingers into Ronon’s belt once more. Ridak’s voice was kind, however, as he spoke. “Come, I will escort you back to your quarters where you may have breakfast and complete the claiming, then rest before you begin your journey.” 

****

Ronon traced the shape of the cut on the heel of his palm, eyes straight ahead as he and Becque followed the Elder. No. Not Becque. He had to stop thinking of her as Becque. He closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a slow breath to steady himself. As clinical as he’d intended to be about the entire thing, it had affected him more than he wanted to admit. The mark would become a scar, forever reminding him of this day. She… Grace… would carry one too. Matched to his own, made by his hand. Claimed. 

The Elder was speaking, words that Ronon knew were coming, but that he ignored. It would be a blessing for a fertile marriage, strong sons, and honorable daughters. It was the same blessing he would have heard on his wedding day to Melena if the siege had waited only a few more months. Instead he was hearing them now, on the day he didn’t want to call a wedding day. As if that made a damn bit of difference. 

Without a word, he led Becque… Grace… that change was going to be difficult to make, into the room. His eyes averted to the mural, knowing that the Elder, for all his friendly facade, would soon be on the other side, watching and waiting. The sound of the bolt going into place once more served as a reminder that though he’d kept his part of the deal, they were still at the mercy of these people. 

Ronon stopped in the entryway, bowing his head. He felt Bec… Grace… slip her hand away from his belt loop and take him by the elbow, silently tugging him toward the bathroom. Once inside, she slid the door closed and he braced himself for the barrage of questions, of anger, of accusations. Nothing came. 

She gestured to the steps leading up to the tub. “Sit down, let me clean your hand and bandage it properly. God knows where that knife has been.” Ronon watched in mute surprise as she ran cold water over a clean cloth. Woodenly, he moved to take a seat and removed the linen cloth from the cut. It still seeped blood, but was no longer freely bleeding.

When he looked up, Grace was kneeling in front of him, a small first aid kit from the backpack open on the ledge beside him. He’d been so distracted that he’d missed her rummaging for it. She was silent as she ripped open an antiseptic pad from it’s packaging and pulled the cloth away, cleaning the wound and wiping away the last of the blood. 

Ronon stared at her as she worked, taking a moment to study the woman he’d been fascinated with since the moment she’d set foot in the gym to speak to Teyla his second week in the city. Had it really been nearly six months since that day? As he stared at her, it seemed like the blink of an eye. And still, the tug of attraction to her was even stronger than it had been the first time he’d taken the time to really see her. “I’m sorry.” Her words came out of nowhere, startling him from his reverie as she applied antibiotic ointment to the cut with a swab. 

“What?” Ronon’s beleaguered brain swam, trying to figure out just why she was apologizing to him.

She pressed full lips into a thin line as she folded a piece of gauze and taped it to the wound. “We keep getting deeper into this and I hate that you… had to do that. It should have been special. Not like this. With a woman you loved, wanted to spend your life with, not with some foolish chit who didn’t have the good sense to listen when you said this mission was a bad idea.” 

Ronon’s stomach tightened at those words. Yet again, her kindness shone through, even in the darkest moment. He lifted his eyes to her face and then shook his head. “It’s fine.” The words were all he could muster. What he wanted to say, what he should say, he had no idea. He reached for her own hand and took it into his own. “You know what they’re expecting.” 

He saw her nod as he glanced at her. A light blush was creeping up the back of her neck. “Yeah. I know.” It spread up her cheeks, staining her face a brilliant red as Ronon wiped the blood away, then took the antiseptic wipe she’d ripped open and offered to him. Her skin was soft beneath his fingers, offering a strange kind of comfort in this awkward moment. “Could you please…” She trailed off into silence. 

When he met her eyes once more, her expression was hesitant. He waited for a few seconds for her to continue and realized that she wasn’t going to as long as he was looking at her. It was oddly endearing, that innocence. It reminded him of what he’d once fought for. As he cleaned the wound and reached for the tube of antibiotic ointment, snapping it open and pulling the swab out, she tried again. “I’ll try not to be…” She trailed off again.

He reached for one of the packets of gauze, tearing it open and folding it as she had, waiting for her to go on. Finally, she breathed out the words quietly, and he could see her hand was pink. She was blushing with her entire body. “It’s okay if you’re not gentle. I don’t mind.” 

Ronon froze at those words, his body responding to them as if she’d lit a beacon fire. Those words pulled him and instantly, he wanted to say so very much, but yet again he found himself unable to find the right words. He forced himself to move, despite the tightness in his chest that made it hard to draw breath. Finally he was able to push out the words, as he reached for the tape and tore off a piece. “I haven’t been with anyone since…before…” He licked his lips and pushed the words out, despite the embarrassment that went with them. “Last night was the first time that I’d… with…someone.”

She was quiet and still as he applied the tape, his fingers moving slowly. Ronon cleared his throat and reached out to gather up the debris from their debris. He would probably humiliate himself. He was already bracing himself for it. Her mouth had been incredible. She was incredible. And he could only imagine… already his body was reacting, anticipating. He shook his head and reached out to close the first aid kit, extending it to her. 

Grace’s fingers wrapped around the small plastic box and he could feel her eyes on him. He couldn’t meet her gaze as he felt his own face beginning to heat. But what could he really say? Ronon gestured to the door. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a second. I just want to make sure the bag is ready. When we leave, we’re going to have to move quickly.” 

He could feel her eyes on him. And Ronon plucked up his courage to finally lift his own to meet her gaze. She was watching him carefully, her expression reluctant. When she spoke once more, her tone was soft. “I”ll follow your lead, Ronon.” Her words tore through him, the tenderness in her voice touching something inside him that he had thought died long ago. How long had it been since anyone displayed such blind faith in him? He watched as she reached to slide the door open and disappeared through it into the bedroom.

Warning bells went off inside his head as every fiber of his anatomy lit up with the realization that this woman had the power to obliterate him. Not since he’d first started to have feelings for Melena, beyond attraction, had he had that instinct, that gut-wrenching realization that someone had the power to hurt him. And yet, for the second time in his life, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, Grace was so very close to wielding the same power over him. And that was terrifying.


	11. Your mistakes might as well be your own, instead of someone else's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut. I do love smut.

Grace heard nothing from the bathroom where she’d left Ronon. Slowly, she lifted her hands, mechanically unknotting the scarf covering her hair. It felt like a semblance of normality in a sea of confusion as she pulled the pins from the thick, coiled braid and released it to fall over her shoulder. It was a small thing, but something familiar, something to do with her hands. 

“I remember the first time I saw you.” Ronon’s voice came softly from behind her and she spun to face him, tail end of her braid in hand. He’d moved so silently she hadn’t even registered him entering the room. 

She tugged the elastic from the end of her braid and began to loosen her hair. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall by the door, watching her steadily. A heartbeat later, he continued. “When you came into the gym, when I was sparring. You looked so damn happy.” 

Her brow drew into a frown as she regarded him, wondering where he was   
going with this. Was it a show for the man watching from the other side of the mural? It had to be. They’d barely even spoken that day. Still, Ronon’s voice was steady. “Everytime, I saw you after that, you were always happy, always smiling. Take the robes off.” He didn’t miss a beat as the command passed his lips and in that moment, Grace clung to his words like an anchor. A bond of shared trauma. That’s what Heitmeyer would call it. But she began to reach up and remove the cording that held the hideous robe snugly against her shoulders. “At that first dinner, you looked so happy, just to see me eating the food you’d made. It was like you enjoyed taking care of me that night.” 

There was a truth to his words that made her fingers falter as she worked at the cord around her waist. Her eyes lifted to his face and she was grateful she didn’t have to say anything. How had he seen that? Yet again, this man surprised her with just how observant, insightful he could be. Those clear moss green eyes hid depths that even she had overlooked. His voice was still quiet when he spoke again. “It started that night, you know. My wanting you.” 

A tingle began low in her belly at those words, though she knew now they were as false as the rest of this was. Still, she allowed them to flow over her, to warm her. She managed to finally fumble the knot free and unwind the cord from around her waist. When she’d finally managed to pull the yards of billowing fabric over her head, Ronon’s voice was even softer. “The next time was when you left the books for me. I came to your room to thank you. Do you remember?” 

Grace busied herself with smoothing out the fabric and folding it, to hide the shaking of her hands. “I remember. You left so abruptly. I wondered if I’d pissed you off.”

When she lifted her eyes to his face, his gaze was direct and a bit confused. “Is that what you thought?” He pushed himself off the wall and moved toward her, reaching to pluck the fabric from her hands and toss it down. He circled her slowly, his voice low. “I wasn’t angry.” She felt his fingers gripping her hair lightly, pushing it over one shoulder, then his breath over her ear. The brush of his lips over the nape of her neck sent a shiver down her spine, and then the lightest pressure from his fingers settling in the place of those lips. “It was before I was used to the clothing the women wore there.” 

Though he was careful not to mention Atlantis, she knew what he had to be talking about. The fingers at her neck brushed lightly over her skin, then gripped the collar of the dress, his other hand rising, brushing along her spine. “Your legs, your shoulders, your arms. All bare for me to see.” A whisper of movements, the zipper of the dress sliding down and his voice narrowing her world down to only him. He was lulling her to relax, even as he took something that really happened and transformed it into a fantasy, giving her something to hold on to. “I left because all I could think about was having those legs wrapped around me.” 

The hairs on her arms stood up as she felt his fingers trace up her bare back with the lightest possible pressure. Grace’s eyes fell closed as she listened to his voice, letting it serve as her focus. Every part of her body was alert for the next breath, the next utterance of that deep, rumbling voice. “If I’d stay, I would have done something stupid.” A flick of his fingers sent the dress off her shoulders and floating toward the ground. 

The brush of his lips over her shoulder was searing and unexpected, and she felt the words drift over her skin like a caress. “Take the rest off.” The heat from Ronon’s body was gone a moment later and she heard the rustling of fabric from behind her as she raised her hands, reaching behind herself to unhook her bra. The sound of his belt buckle made her belly tighten in anticipation. A moment later, he was behind her again, his hands coming to rest at her waist, thumbs hooking in her panties as he sent them sliding off her hips in a smooth movement. His voice was low in her ear once more. “The time we were stuck in the pantry together, that was the worst though.” 

Grace licked her lips as the fabric of her clothing pooled around her feet. Ronon slid a hand around her waist, to her belly, pulling her body into his own. The bare skin of his chest against her back was warm and she realized belatedly that he was shielding her from the prying eyes on the other side of the wall. He was bare chested, but she could feel the leather trousers he wore against her thighs and her bottom. His fingers splayed over her stomach as his other hand settled on her shoulder, thumb tracing lightly over her skin. His voice came in a rumble that lit her body on fire. “I was so fucking hard the entire time. I wanted to do to you what they were doing. After I left, I went back to my room and I took a shower.” 

It was a story that he wove that was doing exactly what he intended, lulling her into a place where only his voice, only his hands, only his body, existed and there was nothing else to fear. “I wrapped my hand around my cock, Grace.” His arm tightened around her waist as the hand at her shoulder drifted downward, fingers skimming over one breast, circling lightly, tracing the skin as if he truly wanted to. “And I started to imagine what you’d sound like as I took you.”

Her lips parted and she gasped as his fingers closed over her nipple, teasing it to a tight bud. His words were a hot stream of torturous breath over the shell of her ear. “I came so fucking hard that night.” 

Grace gasped as she squeezed her eyes closed tighter. His movement took quick to register, his hands gripping her hips, spinning her in his embrace to face him. Her eyes flew open, landing on his face only to find him staring down at her. Ronon’s gaze was dark and unreadable before his head bowed, lips descending on her own. It was like the kiss he’d taken from her the night before. It was a kiss that left Grace no choice to but answer him. Everything in her screamed at her to pull him closer, even as she knew his words had been to arouse, to pull her in. Even so, the kiss felt very real and for a moment, just a moment, she allowed herself to imagine that it was, that the man she’d been fascinated by for months now wanted her. 

Without conscious thought, she lifted her arms, sliding them around his shoulders. He responded with a low growl, his tongue sweeping over the seam of her lips and demanding entry. When she opened her mouth, it was as if he were suddenly a man possessed. He stroked and teased with his tongue, exploring every inch of her mouth as if she were a sweet to be tasted and savored. It was as if he were trying to devour her. Grace leaned into him, surprised when his arms encircled her, lifting her from her feet and turning to deposit her onto the bed. His lips never left hers, even as she felt his hands suddenly set into motion, skimming over the lines of her body, his touch sure and confident. 

Everything in her narrowed to only him, only his mouth on hers, his fingertips dragging over her sides, over her breasts, and her belly. When his lips left hers, she instantly missed them, but registered his mouth descending on one breast, lips closing over her nipple. His tongue was as skilled on her flesh as his fingers, tongue flicking and curling as he alternates between sucks and nips, never hurting her, but using his teeth to provide counterpoint to the strokes of his tongue. Every movement sent bolts of pleasure through her, curling up her spine, coiling low in her belly. 

She heard a whimper and realized belatedly that it was her. His head lifted, eyes dark and burning as he heard it. Ronon stared up at her, his lips curving into a smile before she felt his hands hooking behind her knees, tugging them open. His hips settled over hers, as they had the afternoon before, when he’d demonstrated the Elder’s expectations, but this time, it was different. She could feel his cock at her core, even through the leather of his trousers, hard and unashamed. Suddenly she was unable to remain still as she grew bolder. Grace slid her fingers over his sides, around his back, stroking and exploring the lines of hard muscle beneath velvety soft skin. 

She heard as much as felt him releasing a groan when she skimmed her nails over his back. Ronons’ eyes fell closed as his fingers moved restlessly over her side, his head lifting to capture her lips once more. This time, the contact was sweet and slow as he began to move against her. His weight lifted off her and immediately, Grace released a soft whisper of need, unable to stop herself. “Don’t go.” 

She felt him stop, heard him expel a harsh breath as he lowered his head, his voice deeper than usual as he murmured the words into her ear. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Grace felt his fingers moving between them and for the first time, she realized what he was doing. He slid his pants off, kicking them away and then lowering his head to stare at her once more. Ronon’s hips slid to her own a second later and she saw his eyes fall closed, his lips parting as he exhaled sharply. His fingers dug into her hips as he began to move against her, the length of his cock sliding over her clit with the first slow grind. He’d barely even touched her and already her entire body was on edge. His name slipped from her lips in a gasp as she registered that the movement was purposeful in its intention. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

His voice was low and guttural in her ear. “Fuck. You’re already so fucking wet for me, Grace.” Those words took her and carried her, filling the silence of the room and curling into her lungs like air. Her fingers scrabbled for a grip, coming to rest on his ass as she wiggled beneath him, wanting, needing more contact. His movements were still slow and sweet as he rocked against her, his cock brushing over her clit as he stared down at her, allowing her no escape from his gaze. 

****

Ronon stared down at the woman beneath him. In all the moments when he’d imagined her with him, nothing came close to the sound of his name on her lips, pleading with him. He was so hard that he ached, and the sensation of the slickness that had gathered at her core only made the anticipation rise with a need that was all-consuming. He needed to possess this woman. She was wriggling beneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist, hands on his ass, trying to pull him closer. 

Her innocence was there, in her every movement as she whimpered in that soft way of a woman who was ready to be taken. Ronon exhaled slowly, his hips still moving against her own, needing the friction, the slow burn of that contact to hold him fast and anchor him in that moment. He drew his hips back, thrusting against her once more. He wanted more, wanted to hear her crying out for him, wanted to feel those walls clenching around him. He lowered his head, breathing the words into her ear for only her to hear. “Focus on me, Grace. It’s just us.” The words were a lie, but how he wanted them to be true. He’d positioned her so that her body was shielded as much as possible from prying eyes. This should be for him and him alone and he would have his vengeance that this had been taken from him even as it had been granted to him. 

Her eyes were on his face when he lifted his head, watching her intently as he lifted his hips and slid his fingers between their bodies, over her belly. Those beautiful blue eyes widened as she felt his fingers slide between the petals of her sex and seek out the little hooded bundle of nerves. He’d felt her reaction as he’d stroked his cock over her. It was an instant addiction. He wanted to hear more of those delightful soft pants and moans. He circled her clit with his thumb, sliding one finger lower toward her pussy. 

Her breath hitched in a gasp when he made direct contact with her clit and she stiffened for a moment, her back arching down. Ronon watched the emotions play out over her face as he stroked her quickly, no longer teasing, wanting to pull her to the edge, to make her hover there until she shattered. He eased one finger into her, his chest tightening as he felt her walls snug and silken around even just that one finger. He groaned low in his throat, his cock throbbing at the knowledge that he was going to sink inside her so very soon. He fought for control of himself, watching her as she began to shake, her hips moving in an age old rhythm as he increased the pace of the strokes to her clit. She was absolutely dripping around his fingers as he slid a second in to join the first, thrusting them into her body gently. 

He felt her begin to tense and he bowed his head, hissing the words into her ear as he began to drive his fingers into her faster. “That’s it, Grace. Good girl. You want to come for me?” 

Her nails dug into his back as she nodded, her voice holding the pleading note of a woman about to shatter. “Please, Ronon. Please.” 

Fuck. The sound of her begging was even better in reality than it had been in his darker fantasies. He released a groan, sliding a third finger in to join the first two, curling them into her. She was tight around his fingers and he was far larger than that. On instinct, Ronon murmured the words into her ear as he stroked her clit faster, “Let go, Grace.” 

He was rewarded with the sensation of her walls clamping down on his fingers as she stiffened. When Ronon lifted his head, he saw the gift of a woman at her peak, her back arched, thrusting pert breasts upward as she cried out his name. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard and so much more, so much better than he’d ever imagined. He stroked her over and over, quicker and quicker, guiding her through that peak and into another, unable to help himself. Greed ripped through him. He wanted more. She was trembling and shaking, her juices soaking his fingers as he groaned in anticipation. 

He bowed his head, his hand drawing away from her body as he gripped his cock and settled himself at her entrance. Rising up over her, he could feel the heat from her body, beckoning him, welcoming him. Ronon stared down at her, his eyes lingering on her face as she still shuddered from the waves of pleasure that he’d brought her. She’d told him he didn’t have to be gentle, but she was tiny, and he… well… wasn’t. 

Ronon’s jaw tightened as he lowered himself to bear his weight on his elbows as he slid his fingers into her hair. He bowed his head to whisper the words into her ear, barely daring to breathe them out, intending them for her and her alone. “I can’t promise to be gentle.” 

Her head fell to the side, her cheek resting against his own as she answered him with a soft whisper. “Don’t be.” 

Those words were an explicit invitation. She was giving him what she’d given him the night before. Even now the memory of how rough he’d been with her, her words whispered afterward, confused and sweet, echoed through his mind. She’d liked it. Ronon closed his eyes and brushed a kiss over the shell of her ear as he tightened his fingers in her hair. “It’s okay, Ronon. I promise.” Her voice came once more, a bare whisper, the most trust anyone had ever displayed him. It was his undoing. 

Ronon lifted his head, body bending as he yielded to utter need and snapped his hips forward, driving himself into her in one hard stroke. So many things hit his brain at one time that his overloaded body very nearly couldn’t process it all. Incredible slick heat, tight walls opening for him as he forced his way in, a gasp of pain in his ear that was followed by her body tensing, the sensation of something inside her breaking apart to make room for him, her body bending beneath his. Ronon’s head dropped forward as his mind swam with the information overload. 

He’d never felt anything so fucking tight in his entire life, so good, so right. Something had given way, something... he felt her tense around him, her soft sounds of pain and not pleasure. He knew he was large, he knew he had gone too fast, but these whimpers were not the right kind. He’d heard these sounds before. It hit him all at once and Ronon very nearly came then and there as he remembered where he'd heard them. Melena had made the same sounds when he’d taken her for the first time on the night she’d agreed to marry him. Becque was a fucking virgin. 

He should have been angry, should have been furious that she’d not warned him. Instead, the only thing he felt was dark satisfaction. Ronon tightened his fingers in her hair as he breathed the words out, praying the Elder watching on the other side of the wall couldn’t hear him. “Should have told me.” 

She was still tense beneath him, her pussy walls clutching at him. Everything in him screamed at him to move, to take what was now his. She was now his. His and his alone. That thought ripped away the tenuous leash that held his control in check. He began to withdraw from her, slowly moving in an effort not to hurt her, but remaining still wasn’t an option. She was still tense when he managed to breathe out the words into her ear. “It’ll pass. I promise. Try to relax.”

Her answer was a soft sound of agreement and he felt her body begin to yield to him. His own began to tighten and coil, demanding more. He sank back into her, slowly this time. It was as much to savor the sensation of her, knowing she was his now. He rose up over her, planting one hand beside her head as he slid the other to her ass and gripped it, tipping her hips upward as he sank into her to the hilt, hips moving in a slow grind as he stared at her. Ronon watched as her face transformed from pain to pleasure in the instant his pelvis ground against her clit. “That’s it. Good girl. That’s it.” 

He no longer cared that the old pervert was watching. This was infinitely more pleasurable, more important. He began to withdraw again, the agony of moving slowly overridden by the need to make her understand what was happening here. Her eyes were a tumult of emotions, shiny with unshed tears, even as her pretty face flushed pink. “You’re mine, Grace.” WHen he sank back into her again, still moving slowly, he felt her walls flexing, tightening marginally and he grinned, a dark expression when he realized she no longer felt pain, but only pleasure. “Feel me? Inside you, Grace?” 

She gave a nod, breathing out his name as she gripped at his hips. “Ronon, please.” 

A dark chuckle emitted from him as he ground his pelvis into hers and watched as pleasure rippled across her face. “Please what, a’ko?” He wanted more. The beast was already pacing at the edges of the cage and the door was creaking beneath the weight of Ronon’s need as that familiar darkness rose up in him. 

And like an answering cry, Grace’s voice held the key to open that door. “Please fuck me.” He felt her moving beneath him and he grinned. It was a genuine expression that would have scared any other woman, that should have scared her. Instead, she merely stared up at him, her eyes half-lidded, her voice softening to a low moan. “Please.” 

And just like that the beast was freed. He withdrew again only to slam into her with his full strength. Her cries were so soft, sharpening with that movement as he knew she felt the pain she’d not known he could give her. It was too late though. She’d asked him for it, begged him for it and he would give her exactly what she’d asked for, take what he needed. Ronon’s world became a blur of sensation as he began to drive into her. He’d not been inside a woman in years and even the night before felt like nothing compared to this. 

The fantasies he’d indulged in those nights alone in his shower with only his hand for company were nothing compared to the reality of it. Insidious need that had crept up on him over a period of months was released on her now. Ronon lost track of everything except the sight of her face twisted in pained pleasure, the way her pussy clutched at him, her silken walls cradling him, gripping him as he drove onward. He could hear the sound of skin on skin, the gasps she released, followed by throaty feminine moans. But it was when she cried out his name, that he lost all semblance of control. 

Ronon battered into her with a violence he’d never unleashed on a woman before, the bite of her nails into his back registering a new sensation. She was pleading with him then, her cries barely touching his ears before new ones rose. She was begging. Begging him not to stop, begging him for more. Ronon could feel his body beginning to give out far too soon. He wanted more. He wanted so much more. He wanted, needed to mark her, to let her know this wasn’t it. This was not over when they walked out the doors of the temple. He drove into her as he felt her begin to tighten around him. In the next second, Ronon felt her walls clamp down on him, heard her cry out sharply as she came without warning.

Running on pure greed now, he drove into her again even as he felt his belly begin to tighten. He bowed his head as she began to come down, panting from the force of her orgasm. He breathed the words into her ear, too low for anyone but her to hear. He had to say it. He wanted her to know. “You belong to me, Grace. You’re mine.” 

She began to tremble all over again and as she gave a piercing cry in his ear, he whispered the words to her. “That’s it. That’s mine too.” He drove into her one final time, his balls tightening in the split second before he drove into her one final time, his words a guttural snarl in her ear, unrecognizable even to his own ear. “Gonna… fuck….” The pleasure ripped through him with a searing heat that was more intense than anything he’d felt in his life. He felt her walls closing around him as he came, his cock buried as deeply inside her as humanly possible. 

“Feel me, Grace.” The words tripped off his tongue without conscious thought as he watched her register that he was coming inside her. She could feel every spurt, every heated jet as his hips jerked against her own. He didn’t try to stop himself as he rode it out, making no effort to hide the pleasure that gave him. 

****

The expression on Ronon’s face was dark as he bowed his body once more, his voice coming in her ear, this time too soft to be heard beyond the simple breath he gave it. “Fucking mine, Grace.” Those words frightened her in a way that the violence with which he’d just fucked her hadn’t managed to. For some reason she couldn’t register, there was a dark, delicious promise in those words. She knew it wasn’t real. None of this was real. It was to get out of here but the feeling of his cock inside her, still hard even as he came crashing down on top of her, was at stark odds with what her brain was trying to remind of her, reality. 

She’d never expected that much intensity from sex. But then it shouldn’t have surprised her. Ronon never did anything by halves. She could feel his release inside her, hot and thick as he’d come. Every jerk of his cock had only intensified the pleasure that had ripped through her and even now, she shook from the residual shockwaves that went through her. 

He remained still, his face buried in her the crook of her neck as he dragged in lungfuls of air, hot breaths expelled against her skin in ragged pants. On instinct, she tightened her arms around him and closed her eyes. She was dangerously close to losing it. She felt as if she’d been laid bare before this man. The words she knew he’d spoken for the Elder had rung through her head. Foolishly, she’d wanted them to be true. She wanted to belong to this man and she didn’t have the first clue what to do with that. 

Long seconds passed before she felt Ronon lift his head, moving carefully. When he withdrew from her, she was acutely aware of the rush of fluid between her thighs, evidence that he’d played her body like an instrument. Oddly, she instantly missed the feeling of him inside her. He shifted, gathering her into his arms as he lifted her. His arms trembled, his body showing signs of his efforts in the form of a sheen of sweat over his brow as he shifted her to the other end of the bed. Only then did she realize that he’d fucked her with her head at the foot of the bed, sparing her the humiliation of giving the man watching a prime view. It was one of the small kindnesses that made her heart weaken where he was concerned.

Ronon was silent as he reached for the furs, pulling them up and over them, shielding her from view. He didn’t speak as he pulled her into his arms, letting her bury her face in his chest. He was still breathing heavily as he gave her a few minutes to compose herself. She felt the furs move further up, and realized he was pulling them over their heads. 

A moment later, he moved, his body sliding against hers as he shimmied downward to be at eye level with her. Only a faint light made its way in. She saw those eyes staring at her, his brow furrowed in concern as he finally spoke, too softly to be heard away from her. “Are you okay?” 

On impulse, she lifted a hand, touching his face. Surprise was written over his features in the next heartbeat as she nodded. And she was. She really was. Sex was fun. Intense and beautiful. As the heat of the moment abated, she realized now that it was wonderful. And instantly, she wanted more. Instead she drew in a breath and tipped her head forward, daring to brush a kiss over his lips. He froze, and then a moment later, by some miracle, she felt his lips move against hers, in a kiss that was at once chaste and soothing. His whispered words were soft and sweet as he drew back, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. “Try to rest.”


	12. There is no instinct like that of the heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand more smut. As promised.

The lack of decent sleep the night before had taken its toll and Ronon fell asleep within minutes of hearing Grace’s breathing evening out. The sound of the door opening pulled him instantly from the best sleep he’d gotten in months. He reached beneath the pillow for his gun, only to remember too late that it wasn’t there. 

The sight of Mira entering the room with a tray laden with food and drinks did little to relax him. She flashed him a shy smile and placed the tray on the low table by the windows and then dared to step closer to the bed. She glanced toward them both, eyes lingering on the slight form of the woman beside him before her gaze came to rest on him once more. She leaned forward, the words coming softly. “All the Elders are in a meeting with the council. All the acolytes are with them, and most of the guards. You have privacy for the next couple of hours.” The girl glanced to Grace once more, her eyes betraying sorrow for the first time. “They’ve heard rumors of insurrection from within the city, so this morning they armed all the guards with stunners.” 

Ronon frowned. “Stunners. Where did they get those?” He’d never heard of the Makanesh arming themselves with more than bladed weapons. 

Mira shook her head. “I don’t know.” 

The words were concerning, but even more concerning was the fact that the slave was risking her life to help him. He stared up at her for a moment, unsure of whether to trust her. “How do you know this?” 

She licked her lips and then extended her right hand. There on the heel of her palm was a scar much like the one that would form on Grace’s own after the wound he’d made healed. “My husband was rejected from their faith for failing to handle me harshly enough. They killed him.” 

“You’re Satedan?” He breathed out the words as he stared at the mark, eyes flicking to her face a moment later. She couldn’t have been more than a child when Sateda fell. Suddenly a lot more about the girl made sense now.

Mira inclined her head and drew her hand back. “I have to go. Be careful. Please.” 

Ronon watched her go, his gaze flicking back toward Grace as he listened to the door close behind the girl, and heard the lock slide into place once more. He glanced to where Grace had rolled away from him in her sleep and now rested on her belly. Her face wasn’t even visible beneath the mass of dark hair that had gone wild in her sleep. He turned to his side, studying her intently. 

His fingers itched to reach for her again, and even as he waited for the guilt to rise in him, but none came. The only thing that did rise were the twin needs that called to him at the same time. The need to protect her from these people, to get her out safely, and the need to bury himself in her all over again. He’d taken her virginity, he’d been beyond rough with her. Ronon’s body began to tighten all over again at the memory of her whimpering beneath him, the way she’d begged him for more even as he’d fucked her with an intensity that had bordered on violent. And she’d responded to the display of brutality by pleading with him for more and more until he’d been reduced to little more than a creature driven by need. 

The words he’d spoken to her still resounded in his head just as loudly as her response to them. They’d slipped from his lips without conscious effort, thoughts given voice in the midst of the most primal moments a man could have. He edged forward toward her, pushing the sheet down the line of her back until it rested just at the curve of her bottom. As he swept his gaze over her body, he noticed the bruises on her hips, in the exact shape of his hands where his fingers had bitten into tender flesh. 

Unbidden, Ronon found his fingers touching those marks, tracing over them lightly. Still, there was no guilt. That was the most surprising thing of all. He dared to move closer to her, until he was able to track his fingers up her back lightly, the heat from her body seeping into his. The Elders weren’t satisfied and neither was he. Even the simple feeling of her soft skin beneath his fingertips made his body react, blood surging into his cock as he began to harden. 

Beside him, she slept on, oblivious to the light drag of his fingers over her back. His eyes fluttering closed for just a moment and Ronon flattened his palm over the small of her back. He’d not had the chance to savor this, to really relish the nearness of another person beside him. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze dragged over her form once more. As he slid his hand around her body and to her waist, he heard the soft hum she gave. That one little sound had him rock hard in less than a second. 

He bowed his head, his fingers skimming lower over her pretty rear end, before tucking to her thigh as he nuzzled against her ear. She made another of those low humming sounds that went straight to Ronon’s cock. Without a word, he curled his fingers around her thigh and tugged gently, rewarded when she complied with the silent demand to open her legs. Her eyes cracked open, blinking at him sleepily and the slow, sweet smile she gave sent his body into overdrive once more. 

Ronon smiled despite himself as he peered at her, his hand rising to push the mass of dark hair from her face. He bowed his head, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, hand dragging over her shoulder and back once more, his voice low as he spoke softly for her and her alone. “Hey there.” 

He watched as she closed her eyes and that smile broadened as she murmured in answer. “Hi.” 

A pulse went through him at the sight of that smile. Her hand lifted, touching his face and Ronon’s gaze flicked toward the mural for a moment. If the girl were telling the truth, it might be the only chance he had to speak to Grace freely. What if the girl had been lying? His gut told him she wasn’t, but there was always the chance that he was wrong. 

Ronon closed his eyes for a moment to banish the thoughts that threatened to spin his focus out of control. One thing mattered right now and that was keeping Grace safe, getting them both out here, preferably in one piece. Even so, it was a precious moment of privacy that he knew could end at any moment, despite what the girl had said. “How are you feeling?” He should have told her they were well and truly alone, or at least that he thought they were. Instead, he selfishly didn’t, knowing it would change everything, make her pull away, treat him as she always did. 

The polite distance that he’d come to rely on normally was now, in this moment, something he despised. He slid his hand over her back once more, barely grazing her flesh with his fingertips before letting them drift over the marks at her hip. He felt her shiver, watched as the hairs on her arms raised up at his touch. In that second, the decision was made for him by his traitorous body. This time, Ronon had no doubt there would be guilt. He would debate the morality of what he was about to do later, he knew. He slid his fingers lower, his voice still low. “Open your thighs wider, Grace.” 

Those blue eyes locked with his and he saw a flush spread over her face as he felt her moving, obeying him without hesitation. Gods, how he wanted there to be a day when she did this for him for real, responded to him when it was only them, when she didn’t think their lives depended on it. Ronon bowed his head, brushing a kiss over her shoulder. This time though, he would take her as he’d meant to the night before, before he’d unleashed years of loneliness and anger on her, driven by blind lust. 

He heard the soft intake of breath as she buried her face in the pillow when he slid his fingers between the soft petals of her sex. She was already slick, or perhaps still was. Truly, he had no way of knowing except to flatter himself and at this moment, Ronon wasn't above even that. He lifted his head, nuzzling against her ear before he breathed the words. “Are you too sore?” 

He saw the question hit her and the realization of what he was asking. He was giving her the chance to deny him, and heat unfurled him as she gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. On pure instinct, he brushed his forefinger over her clit and was rewarded with a sudden, harsh gasp. She was trying to keep quiet. Ronon rose up on one elbow, his leg sliding between hers to nudge them further apart. This was for him, for her, for what the fuckers here had taken from them both. He stroked quickly, knowing that time was something they didn’t have much of. He wanted so much more than just this hour, just this day. But for now, he’d take what he could get and feast on it like the starved man he was at his core. 

Her gasps quickly turned to whimpers as her hips moved. Within seconds, it was as though she were unraveling, her head dropping forward as he listened to her trying to muffle the sounds into the bedcovers. He was so hard he ached and he made no effort to hide it from her as he moved his fingers faster over that little bundle of nerves. 

She was beautiful, her body flushing as she gave herself over to sensation in that rare way of a woman who was discovering depths to her own sexuality that she’d never known existed. Ronon watched as she tipped over the edge, crying out sharply as she came. He drew his hand away from her center, rising on his knees as he slid an arm beneath her. “Lift your hips.”

His eyes locked to the line of her back as he shifted his hips just enough to grip his cock and align himself with her entrance. He began to sink into her slowly, his hand moving to brace against the headboard as he realized her body was still trembling in his grasp. Silken walls still spasming with the last vestiges of her release as he sheathed himself inside her with agonizing slowness. He could barely breathe as the pleasure of being inside her again threatened to rip all control away from him. This woman was going to be the end of him. 

****

She’d only barely realized what he intended when his arm went around her hips, hauling her upward even as Grace was still fighting to recover some sense of equilibrium after the unexpected orgasm. Even so, the second she felt the thick head of his cock breaching her, she moaned again, unable to stop herself from speaking his name quietly in a plea. She expected him to drive home, to slam into her, even braced herself for it mentally. Instead, he moved slowly, sinking into her inch by inch, forcing her body to accept the wide girth. Grace hadn’t lied. She wasn’t sore, but she was tender and she ached. Oddly, it was an ache she loved as she felt him sheath himself inside her completely. Unbidden, Grace shuddered when she heard him release low sound from the back of his throat. 

He stilled for a moment, his hand leaving the spot where it had braced on the headboard to slid around her shoulders, hauling her upward until she all but dangled from in his grip. The shift in position made him go even deeper, until she could feel his pelvis and thighs against her. “Ronon.” She tried to utter his name, but it only came out in a whimper as he held her there, locking her into place for a second before the arm at her hips eased away, bracing himself as he began to withdraw, leaving her bereft of his presence inside her. She lifted her hands, one moving behind her, trying to grip at his hip to pull him back only to be rewarded with a low, throaty chuckle that turned into a masculine moan that was pure sex when he began to thrust back into her. 

In the next moment, he had bent them forward, his arm locking around her as his voice came in her ear. “So fucking good.” The words were murmured, as he began to move in a slow, steady rhythm that reminded her of just how much strength he possessed. The raw power of his body curled over her own barely restrained as his movements began to increase. 

Something in those raw, crude words only made her awareness narrow to him and him alone. Earlier he’d been as a man possessed, but this time, it was as though something were different. The intensity was different. Ronon was different. Her hands lifted, gripping at the arm that held her as her head dropped forward and she began to try to meet his movements, hips rising to meet his of their own accord. 

Another of those deep groans issued forth from him as she heard his voice once more, deep and rumbling. “That’s it. You like it, a’ko?” She didn’t know what the word meant, but it had to be an endearment of some kind. It wasn’t the first time he’d called her that and the way he said it, the way his voice thickened with the pronunciation only made her belly tightened more. 

“Yes.” She whispered the word as something akin to defeat began to thread through her. She was out of control, or more precisely was in his control. And it wasn’t for the people watching. It was simply the effect he had on her. It was frightening and exhilarating both at the same time. “More. Please. More.” 

She heard his harsh intake of breath as if something in those words made his control snap and in the next second he was driving into her hard and fast. Each striking of his hips against hers served to spark something deep in her belly as the pleasure began to build. “Only mine.” The deep rumbling vibration of his voice came again, breathless and ragged in her ear as he locked her into place and simply began to pound into her. 

Grace lost the ability to do anything but feel as she surrendered to that moment. Nothing mattered outside of that feeling, the knowledge that he was with her, inside her, taking her, claiming her. Even if it wasn’t real, it didn’t matter. It felt real enough. It was enough to hold on to. Pleasure ripped through her unexpectedly, her entire body clenching as she felt him driving into her with the same force and power he had earlier. The aggression should have scared her, but all it did was send her spiraling into the place where there was only him. 

The darkness within him was something that she knew should be terrifying, but all it did was make her want to cling to him as he gave her this piece of him that no one else got to see. She screamed out suddenly as she felt her body giving way once more as the exquisite, heady ecstasy tore her apart in an entirely new way. She felt his arm tighten around her as his strokes became more violent, his rhythm faltering. In the next second, she felt his teeth sinking into her shoulder, clamping down as he shuddered. An instant after that she registered the sensation of his cock jerking inside her as the first hot spurt of his release washed into her. She felt every single twitch, every instinctive movement of his hips as he tried to bury himself as deeply inside her abused pussy as he was capable of, even as he gave a low snarl. The pain of his teeth clamped onto her flesh only made her cry out again as a new rush of pain mingled with a fresh wave of pleasure so hot it seemed impossible that they were two different things. She could only form his name in breathless pants that came interspersed with aftershocks of an orgams so intense she hadn’t even thought it was something she was capable of. What the fuck was this man reducing her to? 

****

Unable to hold himself or her up any longer, Ronon collapsed on top of her in an untidy heap. He fought for air, even as the dizzying haze of pleasure that enveloped him lingered. “Give me a second.” He panted the words out into her ear before he brushed a kiss over the place where he’d bitten her. He’d never done that before, bitten a woman during sex. But she’d responded with a wildness that had only deepened his own pleasure, inexplicably tightening around him as she’d orgasmed around him again. 

Ronon summoned the last of his strength to roll off of her flopping onto his back, eyes falling closed as his fogged brain tried to process the extent of what had just happened. He’d been even harsher with her this time, despite his intentions that he was going to treat her with more gentleness, showing her the tenderness she deserved. Instead, he had devolved all over again, and she’d met him eagerly in that dark place. 

He threw one arm over his eyes as his breathing finally began to slow to some semblance of normal. The other was still trapped beneath her but slowly she began to move. To his astonishment, it wasn’t to push away from him as he expected. It was to sluggishly roll to her side, curling her body into his as she reached for the sheet and pulled it up to her shoulders. 

Was it a byproduct of so long alone? Was he really that starved for affection and sex that he was turning into some kind of a person that had forgotten all the tenants of lovemaking? Or maybe it was simply this place that was getting to him on a whole new level. Ronon decided to go with that. There would be time to mull it over later. He glanced toward the windows, realizing it had to be early afternoon, at least. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that neither of them had eaten since the night before, but he wasn’t inclined to move just yet. 

He spoke quietly, his voice low as he uttered the words he’d known had to come eventually. “They’ve increased the guards on the doors. Equipped them with stunners.” He kept his gaze trained on the ceiling as he continued, knowing the time to relay it was limited. 

Grace’s head lifted, staring at him for a moment. “How do you know that?” She barely breathed out the words, her eyes darting to the mural and then back to him. “Ronon?” 

Ronon drew in a breath to steady himself, turning his head to study her as he explained quietly. “The girl brought food before I woke you up. She told me. There might be a rebellion in the city, so they doubled the guards and armed them.” He watched as the words sank in. 

She pushed herself away from him and into a seated position. “They’re not watching.” Ronon braced himself for anger and fury, but instead, she merely glanced toward the wall once more. “How long do we have?” 

Ronon shook his head. “The girl said a couple of hours at most.” There was no fury, no anger, no resentment. It was as if she didn’t even register that he’d just admitted to fucking her for his own pleasure under false pretenses. She was, instead, focused entirely on the opportunity it presented. 

She reached out to tap his chest with one hand lightly, excitement lighting her eyes. “Ronon, you’re brilliant.” 

Well that was something he didn’t hear every day. He pushed himself up into a seated position, frowning at her faintly. “What are you thinking?” 

She gestured toward the bathroom. “If there’s going to be a rebellion and they’ve doubled the guards on our room… fuck. You’re fucking brilliant.” Her eyes held only realization as she nodded. 

Ronon resisted the urge to smile, though he wanted to, just at her praise of him for doing nothing at all. “Thanks. Glad you think so. Want to clue me in as to why you suddenly think so?” 

“Well, I’ve always thought so.” She said absently as she shot up from the bed. “If they think they’re in some kind of danger, they are going to be focusing their efforts on protecting themselves and their power position most of all. Which means that if we can get out of the temple, we can get out of the city. God. You’re a fucking genius.” 

Ronon watched as she reached for her dress and pulled it over her head, then crouched and tossed his pants and shirt at him. He caught them as they hit him in the chest and rose from the bed. “Okay. I’m smart. But maybe you can tell me why so I’ll know why I’m a genius too?”

He pulled on his pants as he watched her twist in place, trying to reach the zipper. He paused in his own dressing to step around the bed and reach out to bat at her hand, pulling it up. “Thank you.” Her voice was soft as she pushed her hair from her face and pulled it over her shoulder. Grace didn’t miss a beat as she turned to face him, combing her fingers through her hair. “If they expect an attack, they’re going to pull all the men they can spare from the city. And if they’re holed up somewhere discussing strategy, do you think they’d do it in a place with only one entry point?” 

He began to catch on, understanding now just what she was thinking. “There’s another way out.” He snapped his fingers, and reached for his shirt, pulling it over his head as he began to search the floor for his socks. “You’re pretty smart for a scientist, Grace.” 

Ronon watched as her fingers stilled on her hair where she was braiding it hastily. She hesitated for a moment before she spoke again. “When we get home, do you think you might… keep calling me that? I.. uh… like it better than when you call me Becque.” 

He gave a singular nod. “I will.” The words were soft, but something in his belly tightened as he realized she didn’t understand, not really, just what had happened between them over the course of the world’s longest two days. “Okay, so what’s the plan?” 

She arched a brow at him as she reached for the robe and began to search out the openings, her voice holding a trace of wry humor. “Oh no. No no no. You’re in charge of this whole thing. The only thing I’m in charge of is strangling McKay when we get back. And I only ask that you give me a solid two minutes before you peel me off him. Deal?” 

“I’m in charge?” Ronon didn’t try to resist the grin as he buckled his belt. “Okay. I’m going to hold you to that.” 

He loved the way her smile lit up those icy blue eyes with a warmth that he’d only ever seen directed at him. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of it and he cleared his throat, moving toward the bathroom where he’d put their bag. “You finish getting dressed. I’m going to gear up.”


	13. I lie to myself all the time. But I never believe me.

Never had he been so grateful that he’d packed every blade he owned as he was at this moment. He pulled his hair back, securing it with an elastic band and tying two of the dreads around it for extra security, slipping two throwing knives into the mass. Another went beneath each leather bracer he strapped into place. Still another into each boot and one on his belt. He drew out a final, slender sheathed blade. Double-edged and wickedly sharp, it was sheathed in a sturdy, battered leather sheath. This one he set aside for her, digging out a spare length of the cording he kept with him on missions, looped around the GDO he had tucked into the side pocket of the backpack. 

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, gun holstered on his belt beneath his untucked shirt, so as not to draw attention, Grace was already dressed. He stared at her for a moment, torn between the need to move quickly and knowing that to divest her of the clothing would signal instantly to anyone just what they were up to. He shook his head and set the pack down for a moment, unsheathing the knife he intended for her and knelt in front of her. She watched silently as he sliced up the sides along the seams, giving enough freedom room to run if she needed to without getting tripped up. 

“Give me your right hand.” He was rewarded instantly with her hand thrusting out. “You’re left-handed, right?” 

Her eyes were wide as she nodded, watching as Ronon pushed the sleeve up and placed the knife back into its sheath, aligning it along her arm. “Don’t use this unless it’s an emergency. It’s a backup only. If we get separated, you run for the Stargate and you don’t stop. Anyone comes near you, you do not hesitate to use that. Got it?” He wrapped the leather cording around her arm several times, securing the knife into place. 

Ronon watched as she gave a nod. He lifted the backpack and drew out the knife that was strapped to his belt beside his gun, making his way toward the mural. He passed it to Grace as she came to stand beside him, staring for a moment before she spoke. “What are you doing?” 

“Getting us out of here.” He murmured as he ran a hand along the fabric until he felt the bump of the wooden studding he’d seen that morning. 

She stared at him in confusion. “The door’s over there.” When he glanced at her she was pointing toward the door as if he were incapable of seeing it. 

Ronon snorted. “Watch and learn.” With that, he turned to the mural once more, trailing his fingers over it before he came to the weakest point in the stretched fabric. In one smooth movement, he plunged the knife into it and sliced the mural open. “It’s fabric, smartass. This way I don’t have to make a bunch of noise and kick in the door. I’m betting the door in the perverts’ viewing room isn’t locked if there’s no one in it.” 

Admiration lit her eyes as she shook her head in disbelief. “You really are something else, Ronon Dex.” 

He flashed her a grin even as his instincts began to kick into overdrive and he gripped the fabric as it gave, tearing it out of the way and motioning her over. “Come on. Let me get you through.” 

Knife secured once more, he turned to lift her from her feet, carefully pushing her through the opening and supporting her weight as she braced her hands on his shoulders and shimmied down the half-wall on the other side. Ronon lifted the backpack and slipped it on his shoulders as he planted his own hands and jumped, catching himself on one foot before he cleared the wall far easier than she had. She was staring at him again, and then gave a small huff of mock annoyance. “Giants. I’m surrounded by giants.” 

He grinned and then lifted a hand to his lips as he lowered his voice. “There should be two guards on our door. I want you to stay in here until I tell you it’s clear.” 

“Why?” Grace’s voice held curiosity, but no judgment. His body was already on high alert. 

“Because we have to be quiet. And if I fire my gun, it will draw attention.” Already his hand was on the knife once more, drawing it out before he pulled a second from one of his bracers. She understood instantly what the presence of those blades meant. All traces of humor vanished as the sobering reality of the fact that their escape meant killing sank in. Even so, Ronon watched as she yet again displayed that internal steel that he’d been so surprised co-existed with her innate kindness. Usually one trumped the other. It was yet another facet of this woman that fascinated him. Ronon stepped closer, his voice lowering. “Hey.” The reluctance in her eyes was clear. “I got this. Ready?” 

****

Grace trained her eyes on Ronon as he stood in front of her. Even now, he was prepared to kill to keep her safe. A part of her regretted it, but another larger part of her knew that staying and trusting the Elders to keep their promise to release them wasn’t an option anymore. Not for Ronon, and not for her. She didn't know why, but something to do with whatever the girl must have said to him had changed his perspective drastically in a short time. 

She reached up and spoke quietly. “Give me the bag. You can move faster and quieter without it. It’s not that heavy.” 

He stared for a moment and then nodded, sliding it from his shoulders and handed it to her. She saw something in his eyes, something unreadable as she settled it onto her own back. It really wasn’t that heavy. She’d seen him unload it of anything that wasn’t a necessity. It held little more than the remains of the first aid kit and the laptop and scanner. She followed him to the entryway, watching as he reached out and lifted the latch. 

Ronon opened it a crack and tipped his head, listening before peering out into the hallway. When he did move, it was with a deadly grace and speed that she could barely comprehend. She heard only a startled gasp and then a thud before the sounds of a struggle hit her ears. A moment later, there was a second thud and silence. The door was pushed open a second later and Ronon lifted a hand to his lips, bloodied knife still held in his grip as he jerked his head for her to come out. 

She followed him down the hallway, staying as quiet as she could, grateful she wore sturdy, quiet boots instead of a more fashionable footwear choice. Even so, she could hear her own footsteps echoing in the wake of his own as he held up a hand as they neared the corner of the corridor. A second later, he was on her, his body pressing hers against the wall and into one of the recesses along the wall before she heard the footsteps he must have heard first, coming up the steps. 

He was barely more than blur as he stepped out and drove the first knife into the guard’s throat, the second coming down to dart in and out of the man’s abdomen in a display of quick violence that reminded her that Ronon wasn’t just another man from the Pegasus galaxy. He was a trained killer. As Grace saw the man’s body hit the floor and Ronon jerked his head again for her to come out, she realized he was good at it. He was very good at it. 

He led her toward the stairs, pausing at the top to listen. He held up a hand for her to stay put as he began to descend them slowly, weapons held at the ready. A second later, she heard a groan and then a thump. She was learning what that thump meant. “Let’s go.” His voice carried up the stairs quietly and she didn’t hesitate to take them two at a time. 

She could see the door. Freedom was so fucking close. Ronon was moving more quickly now as he steered her away from the main door and toward the left, down the narrow hallway that ran off the room where they’d been served food and drinks during after their arrival. One of the arches loomed close and as she drew near, she watched as he tucked the knives away, his arm coming around her waist and wordlessly plucking her from her feet. 

A moment later, she was delivered onto the grass outside. She realized instantly why he’d chosen this route. It was to the side of the temple, out of view. But more importantly, it wasn’t gravel like the main pathway. If there were more guards, and there likely were, the grass could save their lives. He was smart. Far smarter than McKay, or any of them, had given him credit for. 

He gripped her hand, pulling her behind him as he headed across the garden toward the wall. The large shrubs offered some measure of protection from the windows of the temple and she heard the sound of voices from the arched gateway. Ronon stiffened as they drew near. On instinct, she pressed herself against the wall. When she felt his hand release her own, she glanced down, catching sight of his signal to crouch. It was only after he’d glanced at her to ensure she had obeyed that he placed his back to the wall and crouched in front of her. He bent his head to speak. “There are three. I can take them, but they’ll attract attention. Listen to me carefully.” 

Already, Grace didn’t like where this was going. She nodded even as the sight of his sober expression sent a bolt of genuine fear through her for the first time. He kept his voice low as he spoke. “When I tell you to go, you take off at a dead run. Straight down the main road, don’t stop even after you get out of the city. You head for the tree line. Stay off the path but close enough that you can see. I’ll be right behind you. If I’m not there in ten minutes, you head for the gate and you don’t stop for anything or anyone. You got it?” 

She shook her head instantly, her mouth opening to object. Ronon’s voice was harder now, his hand lifting to grip her chin. “I’m in charge. Remember?” There was something in his tone that made her hesitate. He continued more quietly, his tone serious. “Promise me, Grace. Ten minutes then you run.” 

Grace drew in a breath and gave a nod. The fear wasn’t for her, she realized in that moment. It was for him. She bit her lower lip and nodded again, more firmly this time. “Okay. I promise. Ten minutes.” 

He stared at her for a moment longer and then rose to his feet, flattening his body against the wall. She was grateful she couldn’t see him as he moved, knives once more in each hand, ready to strike. She heard the cry of surprise, and then the sound of a struggle. A second later, she heard Ronon’s voice in an angry snarl. “Grace, go!” 

She rose to her feet and darted past where one guard lay dead, his throat cut. Ronon was wielding the knives in a deadly dance as he fended off the other two. She hesitated for a moment, turning back toward Ronon’s roar as one of the guards managed to disarm him. He didn’t even look at her as he roared, “GO!” 

With that, she did. She turned and sprinted down the main drag of the city, eyes on the main gate in the distance. Chaos erupted around her as the people realized there was a fight, that someone was attacking the guards. Before she realized what was happening, bodies closed in around her, surging toward the temple gates. Horror began to bleed into her awareness as she realized that she and Ronon had just very likely set off some kind of insurrection if there had been one planned. 

She fought her way through the crowd just as she saw the guards who began to appear from nowhere. They paid her no attention as she picked up her pace and wove her way around the throng of moving bodies and toward the gate just as it began to move. Some guard had finally gotten the bright idea to close it and yet she saw no one nearby. Belatedly she realized they had to be working it from some kind of mechanical room in the guard house. She took her chance and hiked the skirts of the robe up around her knees, ignoring the angry shouts that came from behind her.

It wasn’t until she’d cleared the tree line as she’d been told to do that she dared slow. She turned just in time to see the massive gate slam shut. All she could hear were the screams and shouts of the people inside. Fear slammed through her along with the adrenaline. She would have to be able to move quickly. She looked at her watch, setting the timer with shaking fingers. Ten minutes. 

Sliding the backpack back on her shoulders, she stared at the gate, eyes scanning the wall for any sign that he was behind her. The minutes ticked by and with each one, the fear deepened. Grace bit her lower lip, praying to God that this wasn’t how it ended. Yet again, she wanted to kill McKay for getting them into this mess. No power source, ZPM or otherwise was worth this. 

To Grace’s horror, she felt tears welling up in her eyes and the bottom dropped out of her reality when she heard the faint beeping of the timer on her watch go off. Ten minutes. She closed her eyes for a moment and then swallowed before she took a step back. Ten minutes. She’d promised. 

A moment later the sound of heavy footfalls trampling the ground cover came from behind her, Ronon’s familiar voice shouting from behind. “Head for the gate! Go!” 

She didn’t stop to look for him, to even see where his voice was coming from. Hope slammed into her in one moment and she simply took off at a dead run. That eerie trust she had in him spurred her onward as she headed for the path and sprinted for all she was worth. A few seconds later, she heard the sound of Ronon’s gun firing. It had been nearly a half-hour walking from the gate when they’d arrived and now they still had to cover that same distance. 

The sound of gunfire ceased and a moment later, Ronon’s hand gripped her by the wrist, very nearly dragging her behind him. “Come on.” She kicked up the pace as fast as she could, struggling to meet his much longer stride. She felt as if she were running a marathon and her lungs were burning by the time he deigned to let her slow to a jog. By the time she could breathe again, she knew something horrible had happened but she didn’t have the breath to ask questions. 

By the time the gate came into view, she could hear the shouts from behind them. She saw Ronon’s face set in stony determination as he flung her toward the trees with a swung of his wrist. “Get down!” 

This time, Grace didn’t hesitate to obey him. He was already breathing as heavily as she was from their runs and he’d done far more physical labor than simply running. She heard the electronic hum of his gun as he switched it to another setting, probably from stun to kill, she guessed. He fired off a shot as he began to dial an address. She watched as he ducked down behind the DHD, reaching up and over it as he fired off another few shots as he jabbed at the symbols. 

It was the movement of someone who had done this more than once, dialing for a getaway while under fire. Dimly, Grace had to wonder just how many times he’d done this exact thing in the past. She heard the shouts from the trees a few dozen yards away as he hit the last symbol and whirled out of the way as one bold guard rushed him. Ronon sent the man reeling back with a powerful kick to his midsection just as the wormhole projected outward. Grace winced at the sight of the man’s upper body instantly dissolving as the wormhole settled back and the event horizon stabilized. The corpse hit the ground as Ronon shouted out the words to her. “Let’s go!” 

She launched herself toward the gate just as a shot from one of the stunners whizzing past Ronon clipped her in the shoulder. It was like getting hit with a taser, a white-hot sensation of being zapped shooting up her left arm. Ronon’s weight barreled into her as he hurled himself at her, firing off another series of shots to fend off whoever was chasing them, sending them both tumbling into the void. 

****  
Ronon hit the ground, rolling with Grace as they came through the wormhole. A split second later, the shots he’d been trying to avoid materialized as well, hitting a nearby tree. Not a moment too soon, the gate cut off behind them and there was only the ragged sound of his own panting, her wheezing gasps for air on top of him as she too, tried to recover from the longest sprint he’d taken since he’d been relieved of the tracking device. 

She rolled off him a moment later, groaning as she clutched at her shoulder, then falling back to sprawl on the ground beside him. She was the first to speak, relief mingling with pain in her voice. “We made it. You’re a certifiable genius, Ronon Dex.” 

He pushed himself up to a seated position as his racing heart finally began to slow and he breathed a bit easier. She was still sprawled out but was at least looking a bit calmer. The panic in her eyes had been what had truly concerned him when they’d come under fire when the second wave of temple guards had finally gotten their shit together and given chase. The stunner had hit her in the shoulder and he knew from experience that it stung like a bitch, but that she would be fine. He exhaled as relief flooded him. A moment later, he registered her moving on the grass in front of the gate on the planet he’d brought them to and sitting up. “Where are we?” 

Ronon had dialed the address simply because it was the first one that had come to mind as the safest place. He glanced toward the gate and pushed out the words, still a bit out of breath. “Used to come here when I was a runner. It was where I’d come when I was injured. Something about it screwed with their tech.” He explained shortly as he powered off his gun and tucked it into the holster at the back of his belt. “We couldn’t risk them seeing the address for Atlantis. Don’t worry. We’re safe. The Wraith only found me here once.” 

He closed his eyes and gave himself mental permission to relax for a moment. “Just let me catch my breath then we’ll dial Atlantis. I just need a second.” It was an admission that didn’t come easily. But he’d taken more hits during their escape than he would admit to out loud. He’d been hit twice with stunners himself. It was only his resistance to them and the fact that the shots had come a few precious seconds apart that had kept him on his feet as long as he’d managed it. 

He heard the rustling of grass as she rose to her feet. She was unsteady, covered head to toe in dirt, and even from where he lay on the ground, staring up at her, he could see the angry mark on her shoulder where he’d bitten her, thanks to the robes she wore having slipped off one shoulder. 

Ronon pushed himself into a seated position, watching as she began to pull the robes and scarf from her head, dropping them, along with the cording, to the ground. He wasn’t sorry to see them go. His gaze dropped to the ground as she made her way to the DHD and he closed his fingers around the cording, coiling it up and tucking it into his pocket as he rose to his feet. The urge to keep the cording was insane, especially since his mind went straight into the gutter, imagining those slender wrists bound with the soft silk. 

He made his way to the DHD, his voice steadier, though he was still slightly breathless. “Let’s go.” 

She stood beside him, like a shadow, remaining close. It was hard to believe it had been less than a day since they’d left Atlantis in the first place. Everything in Ronon’s world had shifted in the last twenty four hours and he wasn’t sure exactly what that meant for either of them. As soon as they were through the gate and it had shut off behind them, he heard her breathe out a soft sound of relief. 

A few seconds later Weir appeared, descending the steps from the ops level to approach. Ronon watched as she took in their disheveled state and the fact they were both covered in dust and grass. When she spoke, her voice betrayed genuine concern. “What happened?” 

Ronon opened his mouth to speak, but Grace beat him to it, no trace of her usual smile on her face. “They do have some kind of a power source, but it’s not a ZPM. I have data for McKay to review. But I really think that the next time Ronon says it’s a bad idea to go somewhere, we should listen.” 

He reached out to take the backpack from Grace, his voice low as he fought the urge to gloat over the vindication. “We weren’t able to get close enough to find out what it was. We were locked in a room nearly the entire time we were there.” 

Weir’s eyes widened as she nodded. “Do you need to go to the infirmary?” 

“We’re okay.” Grace’s voice held a trace of relief this time. “I would kill for a hot shower and some food before we’re debriefed.”

Relief filtered through him as Weir didn’t question her before she nodded. “Okay. I’ll let Rodney know you’re back and then see all of you in the conference room in two hours.” 

Grace was surprised when Weir let them go with only a few words, and even more surprised when Ronon fell into step beside her as she headed for the transporter. He was still carrying the backpack as he took up position beside her and reached out to tap the icon for the crew quarters atrium level. When they emerged, he reached out and gently took her by the elbow. “Come with me.” 

Butterflies launched in her belly as she let him direct her down the corridor. When they drew close, he released his hold on her arm and reached out to tap the controls to unlock the door. He jerked his head toward the door as it slid open. Curiosity drove her to follow him inside the room. As the door slid closed behind her, Grace peered around herself. 

His room was about the same size as hers, but that was where the similarities ended. It was a living study in masculine decor. .He’d placed the mattress on the floor and built what looked like a nest of plush furs and pillows. There weren’t many things, a few he’d obviously brought from his homeworld. A painting hung over the bed, strong vibrant shades of red emphasizing the four figures who stood in a victorious pose, dressed in full battle gear. The books she’d given him were stacked neatly on the bedside table beside a reading lamp and candles. 

Ronon lowered the backpack to the bed and crouched to open it, drawing out the equipment from inside. It wasn’t until he stood in front of her that she saw the hesitation in those green eyes. Clearly, he wanted to say something, but was reluctant. Grace reached out to accept the tablet and the scanner. Finally, he drew in a breath and expelled it slowly before he broke his silence. “Weir is going to ask questions. I need to know what you want to tell her.” 

Her heart skipped a beat at those words. It was barely more than an hour before that this man had been inside her, scattering her world into pieces yet again. She could feel the flush of color rising from her neck as she considered his words. “I… I think some things should stay private.” 

His expression was unreadable as he gave a slow nod. “Okay.” There was another moment of hesitation and in that moment, something struck her that she’d not considered before. It was in front of her face the entire time. Ronon was shy. He hid it well, beneath layers of aggression and brash words when he did speak. But there was an undeniable vulnerability to the mountain of a man who stood before her now. When he did speak, his voice was soft. “I’m sorry, if I hurt you.” 

When she frowned at him in question, Ronon simply lifted a hand and gently pushed the neckline of her dress to the side, his thumb brushing over the spot on her shoulder. The light touched smarted and instantly she realized what he was talking about. Grace’s face flamed as she cleared her throat. “You didn’t.” 

He merely arched one brow as he dropped his hand and shrugged. “I don’t believe you.” The words were flat as he turned away and began to pull his shirt over his head, heading for the bathroom. “I’ll see you in Weir’s office.” The words were a dismissal if she’d ever heard one and for a moment, she wondered if she’d done something wrong. He was so damn hard to read that she had no real way of knowing what he meant or was thinking. For the first time since she’d met him, Grace felt a thread of frustration with this man. She turned to go, clutching her equipment to her chest. It made no sense. He made no sense.

****  
Ronon remained nearly silent throughout the briefing. The shower he’d taken was so cold it had successfully banished the response he’d had to Grace’s skin bearing the angry red marks of his teeth in her pale flesh. The sight should have sickened him. It was visible proof that he was capable of hurting her, even if he never had the intention to. The fact that she’d stood there and lied to his face even as he’d gazed at the outline of his own teeth emblazoned in her flesh only served to make him irrationally angry. Though whether that anger was directed at her or himself, even Ronon wasn’t completely sure. 

Two hours later, his mood was no better as he sat across the table from McKay, listening to the man as he questioned Grace about the results of the scan. She’d patiently explained to him why they’d been unable to get closer. It was frustrating to listen to as she repeated herself no fewer than four times, only to have McKay rebut her each and every time. McKay was a deeply good person, but when it came to what he viewed as necessary information, he turned outright annoying. 

Grace’s voice was level as she repeated herself, yet again rephrasing the reasons for not pursuing more intel. “We were locked in a room and being watched virtually the entire time. You’re lucky Ronon was smart enough to figure out they weren’t watching the damn bathroom.” 

“The entire reason I picked you for this, Becque, was because you were supposed to be the one person on this entire base who could figure out how to get around whatever hokey rules they had in place and get the information I need to do my job. My much more important job.” McKay’s annoyance was evident in his voice. 

“That’s enough.” Weir’s voice was tense as she turned her eyes to McKay. “Rodney, we got the information we need. It’s not a ZPM.” 

Ronon’s gaze flicked to Grace, watching as she bowed her head. The flush creeping up her neck was now familiar to him, but this time it was not in a good way. McKay continued, his voice holding the first notes of resignation even as he gave it one last shot. “No, it’s not a ZPM but my team can’t determine the exact kind of power source without more data. You need to go back.” 

“Back?” This time it was Grace who blurted out the word without regard for their boss’s presence. “Fuck that.” 

“Dr. Becque!” Weir’s consternation mingled with surprise. “Let’s keep it professional, please.” 

Grace jabbed a finger toward where McKay sat across the table from them both. “No. Professional ended the second they ushered us into a room and locked the door with the expectation that Ronon would rape me while they watched.” 

Weir’s eyes widened, flicking from Grace to him. Ronon shook his head minutely. At this, his boss straightened in her chair, clearly addressing Grace. “Ronon didn’t-” 

This time, Grace’s annoyance was directed toward Weir. “Of course he didn’t. Because both he and I are, as you said, professionals. We came up with a plan, we enacted that plan, and Ronon got us out before things could get worse. And believe me, that’s not even the worst of what they wanted him to do. So for McKay to sit here and complain that I didn’t do enough? To expect that I would go back there after we barely got out the first time- it’s him you should be having this discussion with.” 

The older woman sagged back in her seat, seemingly at a loss as she looked toward Ronon, who simply sat stoically quiet. McKay had the audacity to open his mouth to speak again. This time Grace gave a sound Ronon had never heard from her, a growl of frustration as she jabbed a finger in McKay’s direction. “No. You do not get to speak anymore. They were shooting at us, Rodney. Ronon had to kill no fewer than seven people to make sure that we got out alive to get you that damn data.”

McKay clamped his mouth closed and for the first time, Ronon saw hesitation bleed into his eyes. He opened his mouth once more and Grace bared her teeth, looking every inch a Satedan woman as she shook her head. “You still don’t get to talk. You put my life in danger. You put Ronon’s life in danger because you wouldn’t listen to him when he tried to tell you it was a stupid plan. You did that, McKay. Because you wouldn’t listen.” 

“Oh now you’re just over-exaggerating.” This time, McKay made the deadly mistake of rolling his eyes. Ronon saw the instant that Grace registered the movement. As McKay opened his mouth to speak once more, he was met with a stony glare and the squeaking of wheels as the tiny woman rose to her feet and whirled on her heel. 

Ronon waited until she’d stalked out of the room to break his silence. “Good job, McKay.” With that, he stood as well and without even waiting for Weir’s dismissal, left the conference room.


	14. Reality denied comes back to haunt

The humiliation of having lost her cool warred with the continued anger that simmered after her rare display of temper. For five days, Grace studiously avoided the control room, McKay, Weir, and Ronon. One the sixth day though, her luck ran out just as she was sitting across from Cindy Cole in the mess hall at lunch. They’d made it through the list of potential dishes for the Thanksgiving dinner and were just drafting the email over coffee and pie when the shadow fell over the table. When she lifted her eyes, she saw Ronon peering down at her, tray in hand. And just like that, her concentration was obliterated, along with her resolve. 

“Hey.” His voice was low as he gave a nod toward Cindy and then reached to pull out the chair beside her, dropping into it without invitation. 

Cindy, oblivious to anything being off, flashed him a friendly smile. “Hey, Ronon. We’re just getting the menu drafted for the Thanksgiving meal next Thursday. It’s going to be better than anything you can get in here. I promise.” 

“Thanksgiving?” Ronon rumbled out, a question in his voice as he ripped open the packaging of a turkey sandwich. “What’s that?” 

“Holiday.” Grace supplied shortly as she returned her attention to the tablet and continued working on the email. 

Grace could feel Cindy’s eyes on her and knew that if she looked up, she would see a faint frown of confusion on the other woman’s face at her abrupt answer. Grace was never abrupt. Never rude. Never short. Instead of questioning her, Cindy began to fill Ronon in on the holiday’s significance without missing a beat. And all the while, as the two discussed turkey, dressing, side dishes, the entire shebang, Grace was growing ever more acutely aware of Ronon beside her. It was ridiculous. He wasn’t even doing anything other than eating his lunch and everything in her was on high alert. From the way his fingers gripped the fork he held in one hand as he worked at the bowl of fresh fruit, to the way he leaned forward to brace an arm on the table as Cindy described the concept of candied yams to him. Even the fucking line of his bare bicep was a distraction. 

Finally, when she could take it no more, she hit send on the email and rose to her feet, reaching for her tray. “I gotta go. I’m late for a meeting with my team.” She lied through her teeth, didn’t make eye contact with either of them, and fled like the coward she’d somehow turned into. Dimly, she heard Ronon’s chair behind her, his hurried words to Cole, and his footsteps behind her. She quickened her step but had barely made it into the transporter before he was inside beside her. As she reached to tap the icon for her lab level, his hand shot out, gently grasping her wrist to stop her. Instead, he reached out and selected another icon, another part of the city entirely.

After the momentary disorientation of the flash had subsided and the doors slid open, he turned to step out, hauling her unceremoniously behind him. Grace tugged against the warm, gentle grip that seemed to turn to iron, holding her fast as he steered her toward the building where they held their dinners. She had no choice but to nearly jog to keep up with his long stride when he pulled her into the large atrium in the center, beneath the massive tree that had always seemed out of place. Only when he’d released her did she speak. “What the hell?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” He shot back. 

Grace stared at him for a moment, bewildered. “What?” 

He arched one brow and took a step back, staring at her as though she were an idiot. “You’ve been avoiding me for a week.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She snapped without thinking about it. In that moment, everything irritated her even more. “I do have a job to do. I can’t spend my time soothing your bruised ego.” 

“My bruised…” His expression turned stony. “Is that what you think this is about?” 

Grace shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe you should tell me what you think it’s about.” 

His lips peeled back as annoyance flashed in mossy green eyes. “Maybe I would have if you hadn’t been hiding for days.” 

Instantly, the irritation drained away to guilt. He was right. She had been avoiding him. Him and everyone else. Instead of pressing her further, he sighed, his voice softening. “We have to talk about it, Grace.” 

And just like that, the sound of her name from his lips sent a bolt of warmth through her belly. She took a step back and hugged her tablet to her chest, keeping her eyes trained on the toes of his boots. “No we don’t.” She was proud that her voice was level, but soft. She sounded almost like herself. 

He was silent for a moment. A second later, she heard the rustling of fabric as he shoved fisted hands in his pockets. “So that’s it? You don’t want to talk about what happened?” 

“Nope.” She popped the last letter and then forced a bright smile. “I sorta figured you wouldn’t either.” She cleared her throat and then tried again. “After all. We barely know each other outside a few dinners. So, it’s easy to just go back to normal. Right?” 

There it was again. That strange silence that Ronon always seemed to let fall when he didn’t know what to say, or perhaps didn’t want to say what needed to be said. Either way, she was grateful for it, for those few precious seconds to regain equilibrium. “You do that, then.” He finally spoke quietly. “Let me know how it goes.” 

This time, instead of anger, there was only guilt as he turned to walk away, leaving her alone as the battered boots disappeared from her line of vision. Grace closed her eyes and let her head drop. Her mind was spinning with the strange conversation. She truly had no idea what the hell he’d meant. It wasn’t her problem. Or at least that’s what she tried to tell herself as she stood there alone, listening to the sound of the doors as they slid closed behind him. 

It was for the best, right? Everything could be normal again. The false sense of intimacy bred by shared trauma was an illusion and nothing she’d felt during those two days could be real. It was too dangerous to let her mind fall for the deception of her heart. Hearts were stupid things. Illogical and prone to mistakes. So why did she suddenly feel even more as if the entire world were out of whack now than she had before that bizarre conversation?

****

Ronon grunted as Teyla’s bantos rod struck his hip in with a resounding thwack. It was the third strike in less than half an hour that she’d managed to make actually hurt. Her voice immediately broke through his irritation with himself, laced with concern. “Ronon, what’s going on? You’re never this distracted.” 

He closed his eyes and lowered the staff he had been using during their sparring session, balancing his hands on top of it. She was right. It had been three days since the disaster of a conversation with Grace, when she’d all but told him that what had happened on the Makanesh home world had meant nothing. He didn’t believe it for a moment, but was at a loss as to what to do about it. “I’m fine.” He bit off the words shortly. “Let’s keep going.” 

Before he’d even closed his hand around the staff once more, Teyla had moved, executing some kind of a complex spin that left her barely more than a whirl of chiffon and suede before he felt the sharp strikes of her rods in rapid succession. One on his upper arm, the other across the back of his shoulder. “Ow! Fuck!” He cursed fluidly as he lifted the staff on instinct to ward off further blows. “What the hell?” 

She was smirking as she danced backward. “Fine? Sure.” The disbelief in her voice was almost as irritating as the fact that this woman could see through him so well after only a few short months of knowing him. 

He loathed and adored her for it by turn, depending on his mood. Right now, he went with loathing. “Teyla.” Ronon injected a note of warning into his voice. 

In the next second, she struck again. This time, he barely managed to catch the first strike, blocking it with the staff as he stepped back. An instant later though, he hit the mat with enough force to knock the wind from him. As he coughed, he saw Teyla standing over him, her smug expression only making him all the more resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to let it go. 

Grudgingly, Ronon accepted her hand and let her help him to his feet as he sighed. “Fine. I’m distracted.” 

“Would you like to talk about?” Teyla’s demeanor instantly changed from that of smugness to that sisterly concern Ronon had seen her directing at him more and more often as his time on Atlantis passed. 

He didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to talk about it. But he was getting nowhere trying to puzzle it out on his own. On instinct, he glanced toward the door of the gym, though they were alone. He began to pace the perimeter of the mat, twirling the staff to keep his hands busy as he fought for words. “You remember that report you helped me write? About the dumb op that McKay wouldn’t listen to me about?” 

Teyla’s nod was immediate. “Yes, of course. I thought you said Dr. Weir agreed with you and Dr. Beque that the power source was not worth the potential diplomatic issues that might arise? Especially since it appears a civil war might be imminent on the planet.” 

Ronon nodded. It had been the one good thing to come out of the bizarre mission. He wanted there to be two, Grace should be the second good thing, but thus far, he was even more confused by the woman than he’d been before the disaster of a run. Ronon spoke quietly, reluctantly. “I may not have told you everything.”

Immediately, Teyla’s intelligent eyes narrowed suspiciously. He saw no judgment, only patent curiosity. He knew her well enough by now that there would be no judgment. She’d watched him kill Kell in cold blood, then she’d listened to his reasoning and accepted it. And just like that, in that one moment, she’d become the closest thing he had to family. He was discovering that for all their differences, the Athosians and Satedans were closer than Earth and Sateda in terms of culture and perspective on many things. More than once, Teyla had bridged the gap between his understanding of Earth culture and his own, and she’d always done it in a way that never made him feel stupid, as Sheppard had inadvertantly done a few times. 

Ronon licked his lips and closed his eyes for a moment as he groped ineffectually for the right words. “You remember how I told you what they demanded?” 

Teyla gave a nod. “Yes. Of course. You were very clear in your recounting of what happened. I wrote it exactly as you-” She cut herself off as she realized what he was implying. “Ronon, you didn’t… force….” 

“No. Of course not.” He couldn’t stop the hot flush of raw anger for a moment, instinctual, that she could even think him capable of such a thing for even a second. “We…” He trailed off for a moment, then tried again. “We came up with a plan.” 

“A plan?” Teyla’s voice was hesitant. “What kind of a plan?” 

Ronon’s fingers tightened on the staff as he paused, unable to bring himself to meet her eyes. “We… that is I…. she and I… we… uh…” He knew the second that Teyla understood, from the soft sound of understanding that she gave. “We were being watched. I didn’t want to hurt her, but-- I couldn’t think of a way out. There were guards, and--” He was damn near stammering now as he bit his lower lip and then sighed in frustration. “I didn’t want to hurt her, Teyla. I tried my best not to. She told me she was fine. She was... she…” He cut his gaze to Teyla, only to find her staring at him in sympathy. “She enjoyed it. She said so. Several times. It would be fine except that…” Ronon trailed off once more and sighed. How in the hell could he make Teyla understand? 

She gave him a moment, before she prompted him gently. “What?” 

How could he tell her that he’d married the damn woman by Satedan law, and even in his own eyes it was real, though Grace apparently had no concept of it? He gritted his teeth and fought through the embarrassment and the humiliation, forcing out the words in a low growl. “The Elders required I perform the marriage rites, to satisfy their council. Makai told me, pretty bluntly, that if I didn’t, they’d take her. And I couldn’t let that happen. And I thought she understood what it meant, Teyla. I thought she understood that it was real. But since we got back, she’s been avoiding me. She won’t even talk about it.” 

When he finally stopped pacing, he found Teyla staring at him, her mouth open, working silently, like a fish on a riverbank, gasping for water. A moment later, she drew in a breath, transferring both bantos rods to one hand and holding up her empty hand, palm outward. “You performed the marriage rites?” 

Ronon remained silent as she surged forward, reaching for his hand, tugging it from the staff and staring at the cut that was nearly healed, a thin white scar beginning to form at the edges. She lifted her hands to his face for a moment, her eyes betraying her displeasure. “Ronon, surely there was some other way to-” 

“There wasn’t.” He cut her off with a growl. “You think I would do something like that if I had another option?” As she opened her mouth to speak once more, Ronon cut her off with a slash of his hand. “No. You weren’t there, Teyla. I’m not going to justify my actions to you. My problem isn’t the damn rites anyway. It’s that she won’t fucking talk to me.” 

“And with good reason!” Teyla snapped the words, her tone drawing Ronon up short. He regarded her warily for a moment. She continued a second later. “She was forced into a false marriage with a man she doesn’t know. She was cornered into sharing his bed, his body. She may have enjoyed it in the moment, as I am sure any woman you take to your bed would. I have no doubt that you make certain of such a thing. But Ronon, her culture is not like yours or mine. What you say happened is far, far from what is normal to her.” 

“I figured that out on my own, thanks.” He snapped without thought. 

For the first time since the day he’d killed Kell, Teyla Emmagen shoved a finger in his face. “You wanted my help, that means you will watch your tone.” 

A clear warning, if ever there was one. Ronon immediately backed down, nodding silently. She continued softly. “You cannot expect her to accept this as you do, as what you believe it is. You must accept that what happened was simply an unfortunate event that took place because neither of you had any choice. You need to let this go, Ronon.” 

He stared at her for a moment in silence. The very idea of forsaking the sanctity of what he’d promised, even if the circumstances were all wrong, even if the woman was all wrong, was something that repulsed him. He shook his head slowly. “I can’t. It’s a life vow, Teyla. It’s sacred to me, even if it’s not to her. I can’t just let it go.” 

The instant he used the words, he saw understanding pass over her features. It was one of those things that the Satedans shared with the Athosians. Though it had a different term in her culture, the idea was no less sacred, no less unbreakable to her people than it was to him and his. She swallowed and then sighed. “I understand.” 

A moment later, she took a step back and averted her gaze, her eyes narrowing as she nodded. “If you truly cannot let this go, you have to at least be careful.” Ronon watched as unveiled doubt entered her eyes. “You must show her that you are serious in your intentions. But do not frighten her. You must be patient and you must act with deliberation and genuine intent.” 

Ronon nodded and for the first time in weeks, he felt relief begin to creep in as the perpetual knot in his stomach began to ease. “I don’t know what to do. She won’t talk to me.” 

“You have courted before. I think you know how it is done.” Here, Teyla finally broke into a half-smile. “Start small and go from there.” 

“Small.” He echoed quietly, though even that single word was riddled with doubt. “I can do that.” 

Teyla was quiet for a moment longer before she pinned him with a serious expression. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Ronon. I fear this will end badly, for both of you.” 

That was Ronon’s worst fear too. He had no idea what was happening. His life had made sense two weeks ago, and now he was just as lost and confused as he’d ever been when he was a Runner. At least Teyla hadn’t asked him about his emotions. He didn’t even know what to call what he felt for Grace. There was an appreciation, a burgeoning affection, the innate need to protect her. The memory of her body beside his, the sounds of her soft whimpers and his name on her lips like a prayer pulled at him. But it wasn’t what her people considered love. It wasn’t even what he considered love. No, it was possession and promises, plain and simple. But what the hell was going to happen? Ronon had not the first fucking clue.

“Ronon, you’re thinking again.” Teyla’s voice was low and when Ronon’s gaze landed on her once more, he found her staring at him cautiously. 

He didn’t bother to deny it, hesitating before speaking. “Yeah. I can do small, but I’m not really sure what counts as small for her people. I’ve seen some weird shit when it comes to the people on this base.” This time, he didn’t bother to try to stop the frown that drew his forehead tight. “Their mating habits are confusing to say the least.” 

His friend tipped her head to the side curiously. “I don’t understand.” 

Ronon opened his mouth to try to explain, and then snapped it shut again. It was hard to explain something you couldn’t fully put your finger on yourself. He drew in a deep breath and then tried again. “A few weeks ago I saw Cole and Garrett on the pier when I was jogging. They were dancing. But there was no music. And not proper dancing either, with actual steps. Just standing there, hugging and swaying.” 

Teyla’s lips pressed into a thin line of understanding as she waited for him to continue. He gestured toward the door as if to indicate the larger world of the base outside the gym. “And then last week, when I was on my way to the briefing before we went off world, I stopped by the reading room to return a dictionary I’d borrowed, and I found Dr. Parrish and Dr. Brown, holding hands while he read to her from a botanical encyclopedia. Teyla, I have no idea what to do here. Am I supposed to get a book on animal husbandry and read it to her like poetry or something? Because if that’s what passes for courting among her people, I’m fucked.” 

He saw the corners of her lips twitch as her gaze flicked behind his head and she cleared her throat. Great. She’d gone from shocked and warning to laughing at him. “Oh. Okay. Thanks. Big help you are, Teyla.” 

“No. No.” She held up a hand as she cleared her throat once more. “I have to admit I find their rituals strange myself. But I’m sure those two things were, at least to some extent, contextual. Perhaps you should speak to someone, Major Lorne, maybe. He knows her pretty well. He is the commanding officer of the off-world team Dr. Becque occasionally works with.” 

Ronon’s gut instinct was to shut that notion down from the first second the idea passed her lips, but even as he opened his mouth to object, he gave it a thought. And then another. And finally, one the third thought, he nodded slowly. “Yeah. Maybe.” 

Teyla offered him a smile and then reached out to pat his shoulder. “Good luck. I’m going to lunch.” Ronon barely heard her retreating footsteps as he considered her words more carefully. Lorne. It would be an awkward conversation, but Teyla was rarely wrong when she made suggestions. She’d been the one to send him to the base Chaplain when he’d first encountered the Wednesday evening bible study that had baffled him so badly. The young woman had spent the better part of an afternoon explaining the various faiths of her world and eased his anxiety about inadvertently offending someone with his own differing beliefs, or in many cases, lack of beliefs. 

After that, Ronon had been forced to reluctantly acknowledge that Teyla had become his go-to for damn near everything he had trouble understanding. She’d never failed to steer him to the right person to explain something on the rare occasions when she couldn’t provide the explanation herself. 

And so, half an hour later, Ronon found himself standing just inside Lorne’s quarters, an unexpected can of cold beer pushed into his hand as the Major gestured him toward the pair of chairs in a corner of the spacious room. 

As he dropped into one and opened the beer, Lorne took up residence in the chair across from him with a grin. “So what’s up?” 

Ronon eyed the other man for a moment and then lifted the can and took a long pull. While the Major wasn’t a friend, he did like the guy, and the beer helped. Ronon willed himself to relax as he sought out the words. “Teyla said you could explain something to me.” 

“Teyla sent you? Color me intrigued.” Lorne took a pull from his own beer and leaned back in his seat, tossing one ankle over the opposite knee.   
“She said you’d be able to explain Earth courtship.” He stated this bluntly, only to find Lorne choking on his drink almost instantly. 

The man coughed, sputtering as he held up a hand to indicate he was okay. “I’m…” He coughed again and waited until he’d recovered enough to speak to try again. “Sorry. Just surprised me. Um. Courtship. Dating? Teyla sent you to me for dating advice?” 

Ronon gave a nod, schooling his face into a neutral expression. “Yeah.” 

Lorne stared at him for a long moment before he tipped his can up and took several long swallows. When he lowered it again, he licked his lips and tipped his head, his expression clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah. Okay. Um. Sure. What do you want to know?” 

Here, it was him at a loss. “All of it, I guess?” He could tell from the expression on the other man’s face that this provided zero clarity. Ronon tried again. “There’s a woman.” 

The Major’s mouth twitched before he broke into a grin. “That’s great. So you want to ask her out or something?” 

Ronon was tempted to walk out. This was not something he’d ever had to have a conversation about, let alone be coached in. “Something like that.” 

Lorne nodded slowly, then leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Okay. So who is she?” 

Against his will, Ronon’s lips peeled back and he bared his teeth. Lorne held up both hands as if in surrender. “I’m only asking because the approach you take depends on the woman. Some women, you gotta go slow and easy. Baby steps. Other women, you can take a more direct approach. Look. Nothing you say will leave this room, you have my word. Let me help you.” 

To his surprise, the earnestness in the other man’s eyes eased the embarrassment enough that he finally sighed. He held up the beer in a gesture of acceptance and took a sip before he forced the single word out, praying to whatever gods really existed that the man didn’t choke again. “Grace.” 

Lorne frowned for a moment before his eyes widened. “Grace. Grace Becque. Our Gracie?” 

Gracie. Ronon frowned at the nickname. Instantly, that possessive rush unfurled in the pit of his belly once more and for a second he wondered if there was something he didn’t know. Instinctively, he narrowed his eyes on Lorne. “Yeah.” 

His fear was allayed a moment later as Lorne nodded slowly and then grinned. “Nice. She’s a sweetheart. Good for you. And her. So have you asked her out yet?” 

It was tempting to tell the man bluntly that he’d done much more than that, but to do so would betray everything he needed to achieve. Ronon drew in a breath and decided to stick to answering the question, ignoring the impulse to mark out the woman as his territory in a way that a Satedan would understand, but certainly Lorne wouldn’t. A declaration of his intention, of what had happened would only set him back further than he already was. He shook his head. “Not yet. I’m not sure how it works for your people and I don’t…” He trailed off into silence and shrugged. 

Fortunately, Lorne only seemed to take this as encouragement. “Oh man. I’m so glad you came to me. I’m the best wingman. Just ask Parrish.” 

Ronon blinked slowly. Was Lorne the one responsible for the scientists crooning at each other about ferns that he’d seen that day? He didn’t bother to try to hide his confusion. Lorne’s grin only broadened. “Oh. I know the perfect thing. You like movies, right?” 

“Yeah.” He did. It was one form of Earth entertainment that never failed to both amaze and intrigue him. Way better than the time Beckett had tried to introduce him to puzzles, which were the most boring thing Ronon had ever tried to do. By the end of the first hour, he’d been convinced he’d offended Beckett’s God, and by the end of the second, he finally understood the concept of hell that the Bible study group had tried to explain to him on his first and only visit to the most disturbing social event on the base. Ronon’s attendance at Bible study had ended the second Dr. Rosenbaum from the botany department had tried to lay hands on him for… something. Movies were good. At least those made some kind of sense. 

Lorne rose to his feet and set his empty can aside, moving to the closet. Ronon watched as the other man opened the door and retrieved a plastic bin from inside it. He returned to take a seat in the chair once more, resting the bin on the floor between them. “Becque loves horror movies. That’s what we’ll do.” 

Ronon was intrigued, and drained the last of his own beer as he watched Lorne remove the lid of the bin to reveal a decently sized DVD collection. He set the empty can on the table beside the other one and leaned forward to watch as the Major began to flip through the colorful boxes. “She does?” 

“Oh yeah. She’s the one who showed me Rose Red. I had nightmares for months. But what you need is something a little different. I should have…” Lorne set the stack aside and lifted another handful before he lifted one in triumph. “Ah. Here we go. This one. This is what you need.” 

Ronon reached out to accept the DVD, staring at the picture on the case for a moment before he snorted skeptically. “A doll?” 

“Not just any doll, my friend. Chucky.” Lorne reached out and tapped the image of the knife-wielding doll on the cover. “Child’s play. It’s an old movie, but one of her favorites actually. I was saving the DVD for her birthday, but you should use it.” 

Ronon held the DVD for a moment, still not understanding. “It’s a kids movie.” 

Lorne looked outright offended. “What? No. It’s not. I promise. It’s A grade, nightmare inducing, shit your pants horror. I bet it scares even you.” 

Somehow he doubted that a doll with a knife could scare anyone. The doubt he was feeling must have shown on his face before Lorne rolled his eyes and reached out to take the DVD from him. “Okay. I’ll make this easy for you. Be in the room where we have dinner, tomorrow night. 9pm sharp. I’ll take care of everything else.” 

Ronon stared at the DVD in Lorne’s hands and then at Lorne before rising to his feet. He could have just agreed, but was compelled to say something, anything, before this spun even further out of control. “I don’t think-” 

“Exactly. You don’t have to. There’s a very important Earth dating tradition at play here, Ronon. And it’s one of the best courtship rituals my people have.” Lorne reached out and gripped his shoulder. “You’ve seen it at movie night.” 

“Seen what?” Ronon growled out the words, his patience running thing. He reached out to snatch the DVD from Lorne’s hand. “How can a kid’s movie be a part of courtship?” 

Lorne stared at him in open disbelief. “Ronon. Scary movies and dating are like… it’s a rite of passage. You play the movie and your girl gets scared and what does a woman do when she gets scared during a movie?” 

Obviously, the Major was trying to lead him somewhere, but all Ronon could think of was how dumb this whole thing was turning out to be. This was Lorne’s sage advice? The other man was still looking at him, expecting an answer. Ronon frowned and tried his best not to let his irritation show. “Turn it off?” 

“NO!” To his surprise, Lorne reached out to snatch the DVD back and actually batted him on the back of the head with it. “She curls up into you, man. You put your arm around her and you kiss her. It’s a classic move.It’s Earth dating 101.” 

“What?” Ronon actually growled out the words. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You cannot be serious.” 

Lorne closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a breath, as if trying to calm himself. “You came to me. And you have to trust me. Just… will you do that?” 

Ronon stared toward the DVD case again. He bared his teeth in annoyance for a moment before he growled out the words. “If you’re fucking with me…” 

“I wouldn’t do that. I like having a pulse, thanks.” Lorne shot back without missing a beat. “I’ll invite a few other people, we’ll make it a group activity. She won’t suspect. You just sit next to her and let nature take its course. I promise you. This is legit. High grade date material. I swear, man.” 

“Sounds more like high grade bullshit.” Ronon grumbled, knowing the moment that Lorne knew he won from the grin that rose to the other man’s lips. Ronon lifted a hand and jabbed at the DVD. “If you make a fool of me, I will break your face.” 

Lorne grinned more broadly. “Like I said. I will be the best wingman you could ever want.” 

Ronon sighed heavily. “What the hell is a wingman?”


	15. Of all the liars in the world, sometimes the worst are our own fears.

Grace reread the email from Lorne for the third time, but found it offered little, if any insight into the reason for the sudden meeting he seemed to be scheduling. The timing was odd enough, nine pm on a Tuesday, but the place was even weirder. Instead of the briefing room, they were meeting in the abandoned quarters they’d claimed for the dinner group’s use when they’d first started getting together. She braced her hands on the worktable and stared at her laptop as she canted her head to the side, rereading the email a fourth time, hoping to gain some kind of insight. 

Team meeting tonight at nine pm. On the agenda is a review of off-world safety procedures, an instructional self-defense video, and an examination of fear-based resistance tactics. Attendance is mandatory. Snacks and drinks will be provided. -E. Lorne. 

She cocked her head to the side and struggled to decipher what a review of off-world safety procedures might entail, and a self-defense video she could understand easily enough. That sounded normal even. But what the hell was an examination of fear-based resistance tactics? She’d never heard the term at all during her years working as a civilian contractor for the military. It didn’t really matter, with the meeting being mandatory, but some clarity would have been nice. She hit accept on the Outlook calendar invitation and returned her attention to the work she still had on her plate. Thanksgiving was two days away and at the rate she was going, she’d be working through it just to keep her head above water. 

Three hours later, she’d barely had time to grab dinner before showering and tossing on a pair of jeans and a faded blue t-shirt she’d picked up at a concert years ago. She stood outside the door of the room where they had dinners, still working her damp hair into a braid. She fastened the end with an elastic band and swiped a hand over the control, stepping through the door. The sound of boisterous laughter greeted her ears and she frowned faintly as she heard Lorne’s laughter and the din of voices coming from the attached room. The room contained only a sofa and a couple of chairs and ottomans, and was rarely used. Now, however, the double doors stood open and as she stepped inside, she saw what was obviously not a fucking meeting. 

Lorne stood in the center of the room, beer bottle in one hand, and remote control in the other. Parrish stood beside him, head bowed over a tablet and beside him, Katie Brown was blushing prettily as she pointed at something on the tablet’s screen. Neither one of them were on Lorne’s team. Andy stood next to Evan with his own beer in one hand and a box of microwaveable popcorn in the other. She instantly recognized the TV from the break room sitting on one of the dining tables someone had hauled into the room, beside an open laptop that was hooked up to it. 

Grace cocked her head in confusion as she heard the door to the room slide open behind her. Ronon’s voice broke into her reverie. “Hey.” She spun to face him as he stood by the door, six-pack of beer in his hands and a DVD in the other. She frowned faintly, her harsh words to him several days before rising to her mind and once more she felt like an asshole. 

She swallowed hard and decided it was better to eat crow now, rather than in front of everyone. “Hey.” She began lamely. Ronon was quiet for a moment as he stared at her. She cleared her throat and stepped closer, until she stood within arm’s reach. “Look. I owe you an apology.” 

His eyes narrowed for a moment before he answered her just as quietly. “Yeah. You do.” 

“At least you’re honest.” Grace quipped as she tucked her hands behind her back to keep from fidgeting. “You only ever tried to do the right thing and I was wrong to speak to you the way I did.” She fell silent for a moment, gritting her teeth as she struggled for the words. To his credit, Ronon didn’t rush her. “I just don’t want it to be weird. I thought if we could just forget it, then things could be normal again.” 

Understanding dawned in his eyes and his expression gentled. He glanced toward the room where the others were and then back to her. “It’s okay. We’re good.” And just like that, he gave her a crooked grin. The expression lit up his handsome face with something like mischief as he leaned his head forward, as if he were sharing a secret. “You’ll always be weird, Grace. You can’t help it. Just who you are.” 

Blood rushed into her face before she realized that his smile was teasing and he jerked his head toward the other room and smoothly changed the subject. “Come on, it’s time Lorne’s idea of a meeting.” 

Grace moved to fall into step beside him. “If this is a meeting, why are you here? Not that I mind, I’m just curious.” 

He glanced at her, then waved the DVD case he held in her direction. “It’s my movie.” 

****

It wasn’t a lie. It really was his movie. Lorne had made sure of that when he’d pushed it into Ronon’s hands that morning when he’d turned up way too early and woken Ronon from a dead sleep in the name of helping him choose clothing for the promised Earth dating ritual. It had achieved nothing, save for Ronon dressing exactly as he did every damn day and now the proud new owner of a horror movie still sealed in plastic. 

Grace reached out and plucked the plastic case from his grip, her eyes scanning the title before she glanced up to him. “This is my favorite movie. You like Child’s play?” There was a flicker of something he’d not seen before, a thread of excitement entering his voice. 

He shrugged. “It was a gift from a friend. They thought I might like it. Just haven’t gotten around to opening it yet.” Again, not a lie in the strictest sense, and Ronon was okay with that.

She surrendered the DVD to him once more, keeping pace with him as he entered the room. Lorne glanced up and gave a grin toward both of them. “Hey! You two came together?” 

Ronon shook his head. “Nah. She got here first. We were talking.” He extended the DVD toward Lorne, who pushed the beer he held and the remote along with it toward Garrett. He took the case in hand and studied it as if it hadn’t belonged to him twenty four hours ago. “Sweet. Thanks, man.” 

Beside him, Grace’s voice turned distinctly suspicious. “This doesn’t look like a team meeting. This looks suspiciously like a movie night that you made mandatory.” 

That was new to Ronon. He frowned faintly, cocking his head toward Lorne over the top of Grace’s head. Lorne gave a guilty smile toward the small woman, ignoring Ronon’s questioning expression. “We are doing everything I said in my email. I swear.”

Ronon’s skepticism began to fade as Grace lifted her hands, making air quotes. “A review of off-world safety procedures?” 

Lorne nodded, and with a smug grin he reached out to pat her on the arm. “Don’t die when we go off-world. Okay? See? That was a safety procedure review.” 

His amusement only grew as he heard Grace give a snort. “Chucky is not an instructional self-defense video, Evan!” 

The Major lifted a hand and shook his finger. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong. There’s a ton of self-defense in this movie. And it’s also an examination of fear-based resistance tactics because I happen to know this movie scares the crap out of you every time you see it. I’m giving you the chance to practice resisting the fear, Becque. You’re welcome.” 

Ronon watched as Grace slapped a hand to her forehead, her voice strained. “You’re such a dick, Evan.” For a moment, Ronon wondered if she was going to leave. Her irritation seemed genuine. But a moment later she gave a soft laugh. “Okay. Fine. You know that if it were any other movie I’d be gone. But… dammit… it’s Chucky.” 

The knot in his stomach eased as Ronon turned to place the cold beer he’d bartered from Sheppard onto the side table and dropped onto the couch, tossing his feet up on the ottoman. Lorne’s voice carried through the room as he ripped the plastic from the DVD case and issued orders, as if it were an actual mission. “David, Katie, you guys can have the big chair. Andy, wanna get the popcorn going?” 

Garrett gave a mock salute and headed through the door into the kitchen. Ronon watched as Parrish and Brown didn’t hesitate to sink into the plush armchair and settle in as Lorne busied himself getting the movie set up. Grace perched herself primly on the other end of the couch, as far from him as he could get. How long had it been since he’d attempted the pursuit of a woman? Years. Nearly a decade. Not since Melena. This was entirely different. He was out of his element. 

Lorne though, was showing him what a wingman was, never missing a beat as he started the movie and killed the lights, heading straight for the other end of the couch and nudging Becque as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Shove over.” 

Grace’s eyes flicked to Lorne for a moment before she silently complied, scooting to the middle of the couch. Ronon watched as she pushed her shoes off and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. The opening scene had barely started, with some guy chasing another through darkened city streets, when Garrett showed back up, three massive bowls of popcorn in hand. He passed one to Ronon and another to the pair in the chair and then moved to Lorne’s other side, kicking at the Major’s shin lightly, muttering the words just barely loud enough for Ronon to hear. “I’m not sitting on the fucking floor, man. Move down.” 

“I don’t wanna snuggle you, Andy.” Lorne shot back. 

“Oh just move over, asshole.” Garrett surprised Ronon with the barb, something he’d never heard from the usually quiet man. When Lorne flashed Ronon a grin over the top of Becque’s head, Ronon realized it was as planned as everything else had been. Damn. Lorne was good. A second later, he felt movement as Grace hissed at Lorne to shut up, even as she slid closer, and the four of them were shoved onto a too small couch. Ronon suppressed a grin as he shifted his legs and watched as Grace’s smaller feet came to prop up next to his. He could feel her small frame tense beside him and for the moment remained still, save to silently extend the popcorn toward her. She glanced up at him in the near-darkness of the room and then he heard the quietly whispered single word as her hand dipped into the bowl. “Thanks.” 

The first few minutes of the movie were agonizingly bad and Ronon couldn’t see how Lorne was convinced this was going to work. The only thing that was happening was the never-ending chase scene that had somehow made its way into a toy store. However, seconds later, when the man began chanting in some language Ronon didn’t understand, he felt her move. When he glanced over, Ronon saw that she’d leaned forward, staring at the screen as if she didn’t know what was coming, even though she clearly had to know. 

Then a miracle happened. It was, as Lorne had called it, exactly like he’d said. Lightning lit the screen and Grace jumped, her legs flying up to her chest as she buried her face in her knees. A split second later, she gave a small squeak and covered her hands with her face. Ronon reached out and resolutely wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged, but she refused to move them. When he peered more closely, he could see her fingers move and her eyes seek out the image once more as she peeked at the sight of the burning debris that rained down on the screen.

He eased his grip on her wrist, thumb stroking over her wrist and to his surprise, she lifted her head and flashed him a sheepish smile, relaxing marginally. Gently, she pulled her hand from his grip and reached for more popcorn, but didn’t speak. It was a start. She hadn’t pulled away, in fact he could have sworn that her body was just a little closer. A heavy weight smacked him in the legs and he glanced toward the ottoman to find a blanket over his legs and Garrett grinning at him like a madman. Ronon wanted to be irritated that Lorne had brought the other man in on the plan, but he was too grateful to do anything but nod as he reached for the blanket and pulled it up. 

****

She’d seen this movie a hundred times and it never got old. She knew exactly what was coming, and when. Every jump moment. Every gunshot. Every taunt that flew from the demented doll to the targets of his demonic rage. Grace shifted away from Lorne, who was still whispering to Andy. It was distracting and annoying. At least Ronon was quiet as he paid close attention to the conversation between the little boy on screen and his mother. His body was warm against her side as she dared to relax a little against him. He seemed not to notice that she’d worked her way closer. Apparently whoever had been in charge of the thermostat had decided that penguin weather was perfect in this tower. She wrapped her arms around her midsection doing her best to focus on the movie and not on the murmurs of the two men to her left. 

A moment later, she felt Ronon shift and the weight of the blanket he’d covered his legs and lap with settling over her. It was immediately warmer than the room, and still retained his body heat. That warmth reminded her of the solid weight of his body beside hers in the bed they’d shared. Grace was never more grateful for a dark room than she was in that moment when her face began to flame at the instinctive tug that rose on her belly at the memory of just what had happened in that bed. 

She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again to find him staring at her, his brow furrowed in vague concern. Grace smiled lightly and shook her head, returning her gaze to the screen. Beside her, she heard a soft chirp, and then heard Lorne sigh as he moved, reaching up to tap the radio she’d not even realized he was wearing. His voice was low and terse as he spoke. “Go ahead, Doc.” 

When she glanced over to him, she saw his brow furrowed in concern. “Yeah, he’s with me. We’re in a team meeting.” There was another moment of silence as he listened to the voice on the other end. He glanced toward her and shook his head regretfully as he answered. “South pier grounding station? Yeah, be there in five.” 

Grace frowned as Lorne reached out to tap Andy on the shoulder, his voice still soft. “We gotta go. The weather is screwing with the environmental controls and city sensors are on the fritz. Doctor Zelenka wants us to meet him at the south pier grounding station and help with some heavy lifting.” 

Beside her, Ronon tensed, his eyes moving from the TV toward Lorne. Evan held the remote out to Ronon and set his empty beer bottle on the end table. “We’ll try to come back, but you know how the doc is. Sorry, guys.” 

Grace nodded in understanding, eyes flicking to Ronon as he accepted the remote and set it down, then lifted his second beer from the six pack he’d set within reach. Lorne and Garrett left quietly, leaving them alone with the evil doll and Parrish and Brown who were now making out noisily in the chair nearby. Grace’s face flamed as she considered whether she should move. But dammit, she was cold and Ronon was a human furnace. She was staying exactly where she was. And he’d said they were okay. She had to take him at his word. 

Gathering up her courage, she reached out and plucked the beer he’d just popped the cap off of and was raising to his lips right out of his hand. He allowed it, eyes tracking to her in the dark as she lifted it in silent toast and took a long pull. It was still damn near ice cold, too cold for the room, really, but it was something to do with her hands, something to help her resist the urge to reach out and literally snuggle the large Satedan. 

He watched her as she drank, and then took it back without a word, tipping it upward for a long pull. His eyes didn’t linger on her, and for some reason, that was more than a little disappointing, when instead it should have been a relief. His gaze was back on the movie by the time he lowered the bottle to let it dangle from long, elegant fingers as he rested his arm on the couch. Grace focused on the movie once more, relaxing by degrees. It had been a while since she’d just enjoyed herself, drank a beer and hung out with other people. By the time the boy and his doll were skipping school and on a train bound for a bad neighborhood, the beer was in her hand once more, yielded to her without argument and she heard the crunching of more popcorn as Ronon demonstrated his love of anything that would be still long enough to be devoured. It was shaping up to be a good way to spend a Tuesday after all. 

She knew every jump scene, when the house exploded, she still started, eyes widening as she lost herself in one of the best pieces of classic horror cinema that had ever been made. She heard a soft huff of laughter from beside her a hand settled at the back of her neck as she realized her heart was pounding. On instinct, she leaned into Ronon’s side, eyes still glued to the screen as he reached out to gently take the beer they were sharing from her and finish it off. Yes. A good way to spend a Tuesday. 

****  
Ronon was torn between disbelief that Lorne’s stupid-sounding plan was working and admiration for the same. Somehow in under an hour, Grace had worked her way into his side, her little frame curled up into herself as she alternately nursed his beer and shared the popcorn that was still in his lap. She’d made no objection when he’d rested his hand on the back of her neck, had actually snuggled into him a little more and was now resting her head on his shoulder, eyes focused on the screen in rapt attention. 

On the TV, the mother was shaking the demonic doll like it was a real person, and yelling at it. It wasn’t a half-bad movie, might even have been good if he weren’t focused on the warm body that was aligned so perfectly with his. He tipped his head, watching the movie as the doll suddenly sprang to life, called the boy’s mother a filthy slut and began a stream of verbal abuses that even chilled Ronon. As the music swelled, Grace jumped once more, her intake of breath audible. 

When she seemed to burrow further into his side, Ronon tore his eyes from the tv. She smelled so damn good. It was that scent that always got him, as lovely as she was, as perfectly formed, as deceptively delicate as she was, it was always the way she smelled and the sounds she made. He closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head, inhaling the floral essence that lingered in her hair. Without thinking about it, he’d begun to stroke his thumb over the nape of her neck. He knew the moment she realized it too. She froze for a moment, her head tipping, as if on instinct, into that caress. The response made Ronon’s belly tighten and his cock begin to harden.

She never took her eyes from the tv and Ronon didn’t bother to look back at it. He set his fingers into motion, stroking down the back of her neck and over her neck of her t-shirt in a slow, delicate touch. It was the kind of touch he should have given her before he’d lost the chance. She shifted beside him, her head lifting as she dared to peer up at him in the darkness. Ronon didn’t back down, meeting her eyes as he slid his fingers from her neck to touch her cheek, sliding them over the silken skin. Gods, how he wanted to worship every inch of that skin, taste every inch. 

He bowed his head, but didn’t kiss her. Instead he merely rested his forehead against her own as he took his time, dragging his fingertips over her jawline, to her chin, then tracing those lush lips with the backs of his knuckles. Ronon heard the ragged, slow intake of breath and knew instantly that Lorne had been right. At that very moment, Ronon became a fan of horror films. Grace parted her lips as if to speak and his gut instinct was to stop her, to do something, anything to keep her from pushing him away. 

He shook his head slowly and lifted his free hand, touching a finger to his lips to indicate she should remain quiet. At the questioning furrow of her brow, he flicked his finger to where Parrish and Brown were engaged in a classic display of heavy petting nearby. A smile played at his lips when he saw the blush that spread over her face, even in the darkness of the room. He traced his thumb over her lower lip, once more taking his time and was rewarded with her eyes fluttering closed. 

The tightening in his abdomen became a tug and his cock went from half-hard to rock hard within seconds. He lowered his head once more, this time brushing his lips over her cheek, just the barest contact. Grace’s hands lifted, pressing against his chest. Ronon stilled, lips a mere hairsbreadth from her skin, waiting to see if she was going to push him away. When her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, he shifted, taking this as a good sign. Angling his body toward hers, he brought his other hand to rest on her knee. 

Her voice was a bare whisper, just as soft as it had been on the Makanesh homeworld when they’d been forced by necessity to barely give breath to their thoughts. “Ronon, what are you doing?” 

Ronon answered her with another touch of his lips, this time to the shell of her ear, lips parting to flick his tongue over her earlobe. He heard the soft sound of her exhalation. It was a sound that had lingered on the edge of his mind for days. It was one of those small sounds that she’d made when she’d been beneath him for the first time, a signal that pleasure was starting to take hold. He loved that fucking sound. 

****   
Confusion rolled through her as Ronon answered her by way of another those slow sweeps of his thumb over her skin, this time over her chin. Warm breath tickled her ear and she felt it again. Grace thought she’d imagined it the first time, but now she knew it for a certainty. Ronon’s tongue was tracing over the sensitive flesh just below her earlobe. He hadn’t given her a verbal answer, and probably wouldn’t at this point. But he was pulling her closer as he relaxed back into the corner of the couch, one of his arms sliding around her waist as he lazily trailed kisses over the curve of her neck as if he had every right to. What the hell was happening here? 

Arousal blossomed deep between her thighs as Grace bit her lower lip to keep from making a noise and to her surprise, Ronon’s voice broke through the silence. “Shh.” It was a soft sound as she felt his fingers begin to tug her t-shirt upward until he was able to tuck his hand beneath it, fingers drawing around around her back, his thumb and fingertips doing maddening things to her skin in the form of light, sweet caresses. 

Grace’s eyes slammed closed when she felt his lips on her ear again, this time doing something with his tongue, drawing her lobe into his mouth and sucking lightly before nipping and releasing the tender flesh. When he blew a cool breath over it, she actually had to stifle a moan. Her entire body was one fire just from those simple movements. He hadn’t even done anything remotely inappropriate. He hadn’t even really fucking kissed her yet. But Christ, this was as good as any kiss, as toe-curling, as arousing, and just as confusing. 

When his fingers drift up her denim clad thigh, he left a blaze of heat in its path and in that moment, she felt his lips moving against her ear once more. This time, however, he granted her real words, words that took a moment to sink into her arousal-fogged brain, word that made absolutely no sense. “Come to my room?” 

Her heart stopped for a moment and she swallowed hard, trying to regain some sense of herself. The warmth of his hand splayed at her hip was all too hard to ignore, and his murmured words carried into her ear once more, echoing through her beleaguered brain. “Say yes, Grace.” 

It took everything in her to tip her head away from the warmth of his breath on her ear and peer at him. Somehow, her hands had fisted in her shirt and her body was clinging to him even as she wondered how that had happened. She blinked rapidly, studying him as she forced the word out. “Why?” It was the only syllable she could make. But it was so much more than just right now, in this moment. Why was he paying her this kind of attention when he had never shown her interest in the past, not like this? Why was he here, in the darkness, his fingers stroking a lazy pattern over her lower back beneath her shirt, doing things that sent any of her good sense skittering from her head? 

She watched as those full, kissable lips tipped upward in a smirk and for a moment he looked like a rogue. It was all too easy to let that expression call to mind what Ronon looked like in the aftermath of sex. His lips had done that then too, tipped up just at the corners, as if he had a secret that only he knew and wasn’t ready to share. This time, though, it was directed at her, rather than the ceiling and with devastating effectiveness. He bowed his head, his hand moving from her thigh to cup her cheek and she very nearly melted at the precious contact. He murmured words too soft to be heard out of their little cocoon, words that hit her right in the gut. “You know why, Grace.” 

In that moment, her heart dropped. She swallowed hard and schooled her face into one of careful neutrality. As she released her grip on his shirt, his hand slid from her face and captured one of her hands in his, lifting it to his lips. His eyes never left hers as he brushed a featherlight kiss over the backs of her knuckles. “Pretend I don’t.” Grace breathed out the words, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt. She hoped, just for a moment, that he might have other plans, stupid plans. Watch another movie, play a card game, or even just talk. 

Instead, that smirk softened into a gently teasing grin. He tightened his grip on her, pulling her closer, his lips moving to her ear once more as he gave her the words in a whisper that sent a tingle down her rebellious spine. “You have to know what I want. Are you going to make me say it?” 

For some reason, her vision blurred as he dashed all of that tender hope that had begun to blossom in her. She bit her lower lip and shook her head. “No. I’m not gonna make you say it.” 

She felt his lips curve into a smile against her cheek and then brush over the shell of her ear once more. “Parrish and Brown are busy with their own thing over there. Want to get out of here?” 

Yes. She did. But not like he wanted to get out of here. It took everything in her not to burst into tears and make an even bigger fool of herself. She tugged at the hand he still held, her voice low. “Let me go, Ronon.” 

He stilled, his grip loosening as he pulled his head back. His handsome face betrayed confusion. “What?” 

Grace bit her lower lip and repeated herself softly. “Let me go. Please.” 

That confusion only seemed to intensify as he did exactly that. His hands left her and he pulled away, his brow furrowed into obvious annoyance. “What’s wrong?” 

She couldn’t meet his eyes as she blurted out the words softly. “I’m not feeling so well. My head hurts. Goodnight.” With that, she abandoned the blanket and everything in her that screamed for her to stay, instead turning to go without looking back. It took everything in her not to cry. By force of her pride alone, she held herself ramrod straight and marched for the door, leaving him there. She heard a soft curse and then movement behind her. 

His voice was confused as she swept a hand over the control panel. “Grace, are you okay?” 

She shook her head, clearing her throat as the door slid open. “Just a headache. Go watch the movie.” With that she slipped out into the hallway, only to find one very confused Satedan hot on her heels. 

She cursed the fact that he was bigger, faster, and his stride longer. His hand wrapped around her wrist before she made it more than a handful of paces, his voice softening with genuine uncertainty. “Grace, what did I do?” 

Grace tugged at her hand and immediately, he released it. She shook her head and spoke the words more harshly than she intended. “Goodnight, Ronon.” 

He stood there, silent and unmoving. She could feel his eyes on her as she began to walk away briskly. As she rounded the corner, she heard the roar of frustration and the solid thump of something hitting the wall, probably his fist as he cursed. Good. Let him curse. Grace wanted to curse too. She wanted to curse and she wanted to cry. Mostly though, she wanted to get away from him before she humiliated herself further.

Even as she made her way to her quarters, her body still thrummed even as her heart and her mind warred with one another. The man was infuriating. He didn’t want her and then he did. And now, suddenly, she was an easy lay. She should have known it was too good to be true when he’d entered the room, beer dangling from his fingers and an easy smile in place. It had been too easy to believe him. Grace managed to at least wait until she was in her room, the door securely locked behind her before she channeled her inner Ronon Dex and kicked the desk, sending it skittering on its wheels across the room. Her laptop came perilously close to falling off it, books went flying, and her chair tipped over on it’s back. She didn’t care. Fuck the desk. Fuck the chair. Fuck the laptop. And fuck Ronon Dex.


	16. My bad luck got tangled up with my bad decisions, and I'm paying for it.

By the next morning, Ronon’s mood had gone from bad to worse. He sent three marines to the infirmary, at least one with a broken nose, and two airmen were limping but refused to join their comrades. By the time he realized he was doing real damage on a much fiercer scale than usual, he felt no better, but forced himself to retreat from the gym to the shower. It was no good. He still couldn’t figure out what the hell he’d done wrong. She’d left him there standing in the hall like a fool. She’d rejected him. Flatout demanded he let her go and then run away. Twice. What the hell had gone so very wrong? 

He’d said something. But what? An invitation to his bed, not even a demand. And it would have been a demand he had every right to make of her as a Satedan man. Had she been a Satedan woman, she’d have seen that he was wooing her gently, respectfully. But she wasn’t a Satedan woman. She was from an entirely different galaxy and that made the entire thing infinitely more confusing and harder to understand.

It wasn’t until Ronon made his way to a table by the window, lunch tray in hand, that he realized where the brunt of his irritation lay. Ignorance was not something Ronon had ever been comfortable with. Being ignorant of something pissed him off even more than the Wraith. His stomach clenched even harder as he tore into the packaging he held in his hand and pulled out the turkey sandwich. As he was squirting the mustard onto it, a shadow fell over his table. He glanced up, glowering at the intruder who dared to interrupt his brooding. 

Lorne ignored his ire, or perhaps in this case Lorne was the one who was ignorant of what irritation looked like on Ronon. The other man grinned and reached for the bottled water on his tray, twisting the cap. “So, how’d it go. Tell me everything.” 

Ronon gripped the knife he was using to spread the mustard on the bread, lifting his head to pin Lorne with a glare. Finally, a target. “It was great. I can’t decide which was my favorite part. When she suddenly developed a headache, or when she literally ran away.” 

Across the table, Lorne froze, water bottle halfway to his lips. He slowly lowered it to the table, his brow furrowing in confusion. “She did what? But when I left, everything was fine. The plan was working. You did stick to the plan, right?” 

He tightened his jaw as he dropped the knife to the tray and slapped the bread closed on the sandwich once more. “Yeah.” He snarled the word out, but managed to keep his voice down. “I stuck to the plan.” 

“So what happened?” Lorne’s confusion now shifted to concern. “You okay? You seem... pissed.” 

“You think?” Ronon shot back without hesitation. “I was doing what you told me to do. I did exactly what you said to do. And it didn’t work.” 

Lorne’s hands flew up, palms out as he shook his head. “Don’t get mad at me. It was a solid plan. It was a flawless plan. It should have worked.” 

Ronon bared his teeth as he lifted his sandwich and tore into it, half-hoping the floor would open up and swallow him. He glared at Lorne until the Major finally sighed and reached for his own sandwich. “Okay. Let’s do a play by play. When I left, she was snuggling into your side. Did you put your arm around her?” 

He waited until he’d swallowed to answer through gritted teeth. “Yeah.” 

“Did she get closer or did she pull away? You gotta tell me what happened.” The Major leaned in closer watching as Ronon lifted his fork and stabbed at the lettuce. 

Ronon speared a piece of tomato and lifted the fork gesturing with it. “She got closer. So I did the next thing you told me. I made a move. I don’t know what I did wrong. She seemed like she was into it and then suddenly, out of nowhere, she just… wasn’t.” 

Evan frowned once more, lifting his sandwich as his forehead drew tight. He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, gaze flicking from Ronon to the window and then back again. A moment later, he spoke around the mouthful of food, leaning closer as he lowered his voice. “So you kissed her?” 

“Of course. Kinda.” Ronon growled in frustration and shoved the bite of food into his mouth, chewing with a determination that was rivaled only by his ever-growing rage. He jabbed one finger on the table top in emphasis. “I did what you told me to do. I started slow. Neck and shoulders, nothing too fast. She was making these noises.” 

“Noises?” Lorne frowned a little. “What kind of noises?” 

Ronon released another growl, his patience wearing thing. “I don’t know. Happy. Girly. Noises. Little sighs and shit. Good noises.” He balled up his fist slamming it into the table several successive times as the memory of her fleeing send his body into full recoil. 

When he lifted his eyes to the other man, Lorne was staring at him as if he’d lost his mind before he reached out to rescue his water before the vibration could tip it over. Lorne hissed the words softly. “You gotta calm down, man.” 

He knew the other man was right. But the problem was that Ronon had no idea what to do with any of the information that was flying through his head, refusing to align or make sense. He nodded and muttered the word quietly as he exhaled. “Sorry.”   
Lorne gave a nod and set the water bottle into its place once more, leaning in to speak quietly. “So how did it go from her making happy girl noises to running away?” 

Ronon drew in a breath and slouched in his chair, toying with his fork as he eyed the other man. “I don’t know. I thought she was enjoying herself. She was curled up against me, and her hands were on me too. She let me get closer. It was going fine.” 

Across the table, the Major lifted his sandwich, taking another bite and speaking around it. “Okay. Good so far. Then what happened?” 

“I asked her if she wanted to go back to my quarters and she just got really quiet.” Ronon averted his gaze toward the window. Lorne was suddenly still across the table. He continued, unable to banish the growing defeat that threaded his words. “She asked me why. And I told her she knew why and then she said something about a headache and she just left.” 

Lorne swore softly. “Oh no.” 

Ronon shrugged and dropped his fork, folding his hands over his belly as he focused his gaze on Evan once more. “I went after her, asked her what was wrong, and all she did was say goodnight and then she fucking took off like the base was about to explode.” 

As he studied the other man, he saw a flicker of resignation and disappointment. As Lorne’s eyes closed, he saw the man sigh and knew instantly that Lorne had already identified what he’d failed to. “What?” 

Lorne tipped his head back, mouth opening as he exhaled and stared toward the ceiling. “Ronon. Ronon. Jesus Christ. Ronon.” 

The irritation was starting to rear its head again. Ronon’s voice tightened as he demanded a little more harshly. “What?!” 

The older man lifted his head and pinned him with a hard stare. A second later, Lorne’s unopened bag of potato chips smacked him in the face. Ronon yelped and caught it, holding it up in surprise. What the fuck was happening here? Lorne’s voice was uncharacteristically harsh as he spoke. “When you came to me, I thought you were interested in pursuing a relationship with Becque. That’s why I agreed to help you.” 

Ronon straightened and hurled the bag of chips back across the table, a vague sense of satisfaction rising in him as he hissed the words. “What the fuck do you think I’m trying to do if not pursuing a relationship with the woman?” 

“Then why the hell would you ask her to go back to your quarters for sex when you haven’t officially even had a first date yet? No wonder she ran, man. There… I can’t… are you serious?” Lorne didn’t back down as most people would have. 

“It wouldn’t be the first-” He cut himself off to keep himself from spilling the entire story to someone who had no right to know. Ronon grudgingly had to admire that the other man showed spine and didn’t show any sign of laying off him. “I don’t get it. If a woman is consenting and enjoying a man’s attention, why wouldn’t she want to join him in his bed? It’s the next logical step.” None of this made any sense. 

Lorne’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “You can’t tell me that any time you kissed a woman and she seemed to be enjoying it on Sateda you invited her to fuck.” 

When he put it like that, it did seem odd, even to Ronon. Ronon frowned, that first spark of understanding growing. “No but Grace and I… we…” He cut himself off again, frowning as he shifted his gaze back toward the view of the city once more. A simple explanation wouldn’t come, and Lorne was staring at him expectantly. “It’s serious.” 

“Serious? Ronon, you sound like a crazy person when you say that. You haven’t even gone on a real date.” Lorne’s voice was level, as if he were trying to reason with him. 

Ronon breathed out in irritation. “Look. There’s stuff you don’t know, stuff I can’t talk about. But I’m not crazy. I have to pursue her. And if you’re going to help me, then do it. And if not, then just fuck off.” 

Lorne bit his lower lip, silent for a long minute before he nodded. “Okay. I trust you. But you have to trust me too.” 

It was fair enough. Ronon sighed and then gave an answering nod. “I don’t understand why she’d run like that.” 

The Major drew in a breath and then pushed it out as he began to speak softly. “You insulted her.” He was speaking in that voice that Ronon knew was the ‘no bullshit’ tone the military used when there was no other recourse than to deliver bad news straight out. 

He’d heard that tone enough from his own lips to his squad many times and he sat up a little straighter. Ronon remained silent, tracking what the man said as he paid closer attention as Lorne continued. “If you didn’t make it clear that you’re interested in more than sex, then I think it’s a fair bet that you hurt her feelings and pissed her off.” 

“She knows what I want.” Ronon corrected him without hesitation. “When we were on the Makanesh homeworld, I made myself really clear.” 

“Did you?” Lorne shot back. Ronon opened his mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut as he digested the question. Had he? He’d told her they were alone not three seconds after he’d fucked her. She’d known they were alone that time. Hadn’t that made it clear that he intended more than just that one night?

He frowned faintly, staring at the table as Lorne broke through the silence once more. “You gotta apologize. Lucky for you, Thanksgiving dinner is tomorrow night. Go to her today and apologize. Ask her to sit beside you at the dinner. And then tomorrow, you sit at that table and you make boring conversation about anything she wants to talk about.” 

Ronon lifted his gaze, training it on the older man as Evan continued. “Then after dinner, you walk her to her quarters. Hold her hand. Nothing more. No kissing. Not even a hug. Just tell her goodnight and then walk away. If she’s speaking to you after that, then you might have a fighting chance. If not… I dunno, man.” 

Dread settled in the pit of his stomach as he realized the extent of what he’d done. In the next moment, the dread turned to flatout guilt as he fully understood just how much of an ass he’d made of himself. He leaned forward and buried his face in his palm in a rare display of defeat. “Fuck. I fucked up.” 

Lorne sounded almost cheerful as he chirped the word. “Yep.” 

Ronon sighed heavily and lifted his head. “You’re sure that’s gonna fix it? The dinner thing?” 

Across the table, the Major flashed him a smile as he shook his head emphatically. “I have no idea. But if it does you owe me three overnight duty patrol rotations. That’s the price you pay for having me as your wingman.” 

There it was, that word again. Ronon rolled his eyes and reached for his sandwich. “For the last time. What the fuck is a wingman?” 

****

The knock at her door was so soft Grace almost thought she’d imagined it the first time it came. She paused in typing, gaze drifting to the closed door only to hear it come again, followed by the muffled sound of a familiar voice. “Grace?” 

Her heart kicked up a notch as the humiliation she’d felt the night before came rushing back. Heat flooded her face. Maybe if she just stayed quiet, he would go away. The knock came again a third time and this time, Ronon’s voice was a little louder. “Grace?” 

She closed her eyes for a moment as she cursed beneath her breath and set the laptop aside on the bed, next to the pile of papers she’d been working on. She could do this. She wasn’t a coward. She could face the man on the other side of the door. He might be big, but she could be just as big in spirit. And so she marched to the door, squared her shoulders and reached out to wave a hand over the door controls. 

As it slid open, she saw him there, leaning against the doorframe, arms spread as if to stop her in case she decided to rush past him. Grace couldn’t really blame him. She’d pretty much done exactly that the night before. She folded her arms over her chest and stared him down, doing her best to look mean. 

Ronon straightened, his gaze sweeping over her body for a moment before green eyes flicked up to her face. She read heat there, unexpected and unwelcome. She drew herself up to her full height and leveled him with her best stare. “Yes?” 

That heat bled from his eyes to be replaced by something she couldn’t read. He straightened and shoved his hands into his pockets, as he always seemed to do when he was nervous. That assuaged her somewhat. “I need to talk to you.”

As if the situation needed to be made worse. She shook her head. “No. You don’t.” 

Ronon’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he stepped inside the room without invitation. The door closed behind him as he paced toward the middle of the room, his voice mild. “How’s the headache?” 

For a moment, Grace was tempted to play dumb. Hurt and humiliation warred with anger at the nerve, and at herself for being so stupid as to think she was interesting enough for a man like him. Who had she been kidding? The momentary hope she’d had at the first brush of his fingers over the nape of her neck the night before had been a fool’s hope from the start. 

Grace tucked her hands behind her back and waited for him to speak. He turned in a slow circle, as though studying her quarters and the contents of them carefully. She knew stalling when she saw it, but refused to be the first one to give in. Finally, he turned to face her, his eyes guarded. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” 

“Nope.” She replied instantly. Then, strangely, she felt a momentary flare of guilt when she saw him wince as if she’d slapped him. 

“I guess I deserved that.” Ronon drew in a breath and lowered his eyes, nodding. A moment later, he sighed heavily and pulsed his hands from his pockets, folding them over his chest in a posture Grace couldn’t quite interpret. “I’m sorry, about last night.” 

Grace frowned, not quite knowing what he was getting at. She held her ground, fingers laced together behind her back as she waited for him to continue. He gave a low sound of annoyance as he tipped his head back. When he righted himself again, she saw genuine frustration in his gaze. It was the last thing she expected to see. 

When Ronon began to speak again, his words came haltingly, the awkwardness more unexpected than his attempt to explain. “I fucked up and I’m sorry.” 

For a split second, she almost gave in. He didn’t attempt to justify anything. He wasn’t trying to defend himself. He was owning up to his mistake and that took guts. Grace tried to resist the urge to accept the apology. Anger flashed in her once more, burning with a heat that was so searing she suddenly wanted to slap him. Instead, she remained stock still, unmoving as she waited, determined to hear him out. 

She saw his jaw flex as he gritted his teeth and when he spoke, his words carried no heat. “I thought I’d made myself clear to you. About what I wanted, I thought you knew that I…” He broke off once more, then breathed out slowly. That deep rumbling voice that even now did things to her belly was laced with annoyance, it would seem, wasn’t even directed at her. “After we… that second time…” 

Grace’s face flamed instantly at the memory and his posture shifted a moment later as he lifted his hands, pushing his dreads from his face. “Fuck it. I can’t do this. I can’t… I’m sorry. I can’t be this person.” 

Surprise flickered over her awareness as he stepped closer. It was as if something in him had snapped and he lifted his hands to gesture toward her, as if he were very tempted to strangle her but was resisting the urge. “I’m not from your world, Grace. I can’t be like a man from Earth because that’s not who I am.” 

Grace’s brow furrowed as she tried to follow, but the fact that she was utterly lost must have been written all over her face. Ronon took another step forward, his voice laden with frustration. “I can’t ask you to sit next to me at dinner and then hold your fucking hand and walk you to your door and then just walk away. That’s not who I am.” 

“So who are you?” The words escaped her before the question was even fully formed in her mind. 

“I’m Satedan.” Ronon’s voice tightened as he scrubbed a hand over his face. Clearly he wanted that to explain everything to her, but it explained nothing. “I’m not… I can’t be… I can only ever be who I am. I may live among your people, but I’m still Satedan. Just like Teyla will always be Athosian, I’ll always be Satedan. It’s at my core.” 

Her resolve faltered as she realized that he was trying, in his own way, to explain something important to him. She owed him the respect of at least trying to understand. Grace licked her lips and then sighed. “Help me to understand why you would ever think I’d want you to be anyone but who you are? Where did you get that idea?” 

“Fucking Lorne said I should come here and apologize and then ask you to sit with me tomorrow and then I should just pussy out and walk you to your door like I did with Anisa Rask when I was fifteen and too terrified of girls to even touch her.” His frustration deepened even as her own understanding began to dawn. 

Fierce, tall, badass Ronon was standing in front of her admitting to a vulnerability that she was pretty sure that he’d admitted to not even Teyla. He continued on, hammering her with still more words that seemed to now flow from the usually reticent man as if a valve had been loosened and water were releasing. “Lorne says I need to be a gentleman, but I don’t know what that means to you, or to your people. I want to be respectful toward you, but at the same damn time I want to pin you down every time I lay eyes on you. I don’t know how to do both.” 

It hit her then, all at once, what he’d said. “Wait. Whoa…” She held up her hands, her mouth dropping open. “You told Lorne what happened between us?” 

“What? Of course not!” Grace watched as Ronon paced away from her, pressing the heel of his hand to his head. “No. I told Teyla and Teyla said that if I wanted to pursue you that I needed to start small and that if I wanted to understand how to court a woman from Earth properly, then I needed to talk to someone from Earth” 

He’d told Teyla. That was almost as bad, but even as she opened her mouth to speak, he continued, now babbling as she’d done the first time they’d really talked, only worse. Way worse. It was so much worse that Grace couldn’t even find a place to interject, and kinda wondered how the man was still breathing. “I can’t go to Sheppard because he can be kind of a smartass about something like this and I don’t need smartass right now. I need help. So Teyla said I should go to Lorne. And Lorne told me that I needed a wingman and I still don’t know what the fuck that is. And last night… that was his stupid fucking plan.” 

Grace opened her mouth to interject, but Ronon was on a roll now and adopted a mocking tone that was an eerily dead on imitation of her commanding officer. “Scary movie. Classic date night tradition. Guaranteed home run. She’ll snuggle right up to you and then you make a move. Nice and slow, Ronon. Just get her right there next to you. It’s her favorite movie. And then you just do the rest.” 

She lifted a hand, but now he’d begun to pace, ranting to himself as he recounted the mistakes that Lorne had apparently led him into. Lorne was his wingman? She almost tuned him out as she tried to puzzle that one out, but it was impossible, Grace now knew, to ignore an irate rambling Satedan who was unleashing his every frustration with his singular experience of having the least helpful wingman in history. “And that’s why I acted like a fucking idiot. I didn’t know it was going to hurt your feelings to tell you I want to pin you down and fuck you until your eyes cross. I was trying to be sensitive and a gentleman and go slow and do all those things that fucking Lorne told me a woman from Earth needs from a man.” 

It had gone from heartbreaking to hilarious as she folded her arms over her chest and watched him as he ranted, now gesturing with more vehemence than she’d ever seen from him before. It was fascinating. She had no idea Ronon had so much anger in him. But he had a clear need to vent and so Grace simply let him go. And go he did. “I just can’t do it. I am not those things. If I want to fuck you, I’m going to tell you I want to fuck you. If I want to sit and eat food with you, I’m gonna fucking say it. I can’t do that, Grace. I’m sorry. If what you want is someone who’s going to treat you like you’re made of glass, I can’t do it. I’m Satedan. And you’re going to have to learn to accept me as a Satedan.”

Grace pressed her lips together as he fell silent, watching as he placed his hands on his hips, his back to her. A heartbeat passed and then another. And then finally he turned slowly. His face was red and he was breathing as if he’d just sprinted a few miles. “And after all that bullshit… I still don’t know what a fucking wingman is!” 

She waited another moment, to see if he was really done and when he remained silent, watching her carefully, she finally spoke. “Feel better?” 

He stared at her for a moment longer and then looked away, his expression turning thoughtful. A second later, he nodded slowly and licked his lips. “Yeah. I do.” 

“Good.” Grace retorted as she folded her arms over her chest and pursed her lips for a moment. “A wingman is a guy who helps his friend get the girl he wants. Usually in a bar, but it can often extend to other social situations. Most of the time, a wingman’s primary function is to tell the girl about all the amazing things his friend can do, or has done, generally talk him up, make him look good. Lorne’s an idiot. He’s a horrible wingman. He tried to hook up Katie Brown and David Parrish. What he doesn’t know is that they started dating right after McKay fucked up the one date he managed to get Katie to agree to. They’ve been dating for like four months. David just doesn’t have the heart to tell Lorne.” 

Ronon’s expression was clearly skeptical. “That’s what he was trying to do for me? He was really trying to help me? I was starting to think he was being a dick and it was some kind of sick joke.” He was quiet for a moment before a note of curiosity entered his voice. “Is that really how people on your planet court?” 

Grace’s lips twitched as she gave a soft, rueful laugh. “It depends on the couple. I’m sure it was the same thing on Sateda, right? It’s never the same for any two couples. I don’t have a great deal of experience with dating, but from the little I have done, it’s kind of like a dance.” 

“A dance?” He frowned once more, and to her surprise, she saw his shoulders slump. For the first time, she heard a thread of defeat in his voice. “It isn’t… it wasn’t… like that on Sateda. I wanted Melena and I told her so flat out. There were other men who wanted her, but I convinced her that I could take care of her.” 

Something unfurled in her stomach once more, a tendril of hope. He’d never disclosed much about his past to her, but now he was actually talking and Grace wasn’t about to stop him. “I courted her for a year before I asked her to marry me. The night she agreed was the first night we were together.” 

Understanding ripped down her spine as she realized what he was saying. She gaped at him, stepping forward. “You’re telling me that you were with your fiance for a year before you had sex with her?” 

His brow drew tight, as if confused by her surprise. “Yes. It was serious. It was a commitment and she wasn’t just someone that I wanted to screw. I loved her with every fiber of my being.” 

And there it was. The sadness that entered his eyes flared for a moment before he shook his head. “Listen to me. My point is that I’m going to be the same, no matter where you’re from and I can’t and won’t try to be anything but Satedan, and I want to be clear on that.” 

Grace’s belly tightened as her overloaded brain, which was scrambling to process the fact that Ronon Dex was standing in front of her talking about feelings she’d never even been sure he had, let alone was capable of expression so eloquently, caught on to what he was trying to say. “So be that. I wouldn’t want you to be anything but who you are. It wouldn’t be fair. If anything, it would be arrogant and invalidate and minimize the value of where you come from. Ronon, Sateda is your home world. I would never want you to think I want you to be anyone else for any reason. I have friends from dozens of planets, Ronon. And I want to count you among them.” 

He released something akin to an impatient roar. “You’re missing my entire point. I don’t want to be your fucking friend, Grace. We’re beyond that. We can never be friends.” She tipped her head, her gaze rising to his face once more, only to find him stepping closer, a predatory gleam rising to mossy green eyes. Grace bit her lower lip as she found him suddenly right in front of her, as if he had every right to be in her personal space. 

This time, when he touched her face, the caress was just as light as it had been the night before, but her reaction was entirely different. Her body betrayed her, goosebumps rising on her skin, color blossoming in her face. Without conscious thought, she lifted her hands, settling them at his waist. His gaze was searching, his voice softer. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’ll do my best not to do it again.” Grace could only stare up at him for a moment before nodding slowly. He continued more quietly. “I don’t know what you think we are, but to me we’re a done deal.” 

Those words made her heart stop, as confusion crept in. She didn’t have the chance to respond as Ronon bowed his head, brushing an absurdly chaste kiss over her lips. It was warm and sweet and the touch lingered. The damn man was the most confusing person she’d ever met. As his hand slid to the nape of her neck, he released her lips and rested his forehead against hers, muttering softly, “Wear a dress to dinner tomorrow.” 

With that he released her and left her standing there alone in the middle of her quarters, heart suddenly hammering in her chest as she tried to process just what the hell had happened. Ronon was interested in her romantically. He hadn’t just been trying to get laid. Everything she thought she knew about the man and about their ass backward situation suddenly made even less sense.

“Done deal. What the fuck does that even mean?” Grace muttered the words to the empty room, even more confused than when he’d thundered in with what had turned out to be an amusing and decent damn apology. But ‘done deal’. Had Ronon just stood in front of her and declared that they were a couple without even asking her on a proper date? The more she turned it over in her head, the more sense it made. Amusement warred with the flutter of excitement that rose in her belly as she realized that was exactly what he’d done.


	17. If you make enough bad decisions, every once in a while things work out for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut.

She should have worn jeans just to be contrary. She should have made him suffer. But the next day, Grace found herself in the kitchen, surrounded by what would be Thanksgiving dinner for six people wearing the same light linen dress she’d forever think of as ‘the pantry dress’. 

Grace had just pulled the turkey from the oven to baste it when the door slid open. Teyla appeared in the doorway, holding a pie dish and smiling warmly. “I thought I might come see if you needed help and Lieutenant Morris from the kitchen made us a pumpkin pie for dessert.”

At her gesture to the counter where the finished cold dishes sat, Teyla stepped further into the kitchen to join her. “What still needs to be done?” 

Grace gazed around herself, trying her best not to let her face burn in embarrassment as she recalled Ronon’s rant the night before This woman likely knew every sordid detail of what they’d done. She cleared her throat and forced herself to focus as she finished basting the turkey and pushed it back into the oven, closing the door. “Turkey has about another hour. Green bean casserole needs to go into the oven in about 30 minutes. Let’s see… candied yams around the same time. Dressing is already in the bottom. The cranberry sauce is canned, so that’s just opening it up.” Grace snapped her fingers and gestured to the bowl of whole potatoes. “You could actually peel and cut those. I haven’t started the mashed potatoes yet.” 

Teyla moved to the sink to wash her hands, speaking quietly. “Are you making those stuffed things again this year?” 

“Stuffed brussels sprouts? No. We’re having deviled eggs instead.” Grace reached for the pile of potatoes and began to help Teyla peel them. “But I did make some of those stuffed mushrooms Ronon liked so much last month.” Grace smiled at the memory of the large man obliterating an entire plate of stuffed mushrooms nearly on his own. 

The Athosian woman smiled. “He will eat anything that will be still long enough to make it to his mouth.” Grace laughed softly at those words. They were absolutely true. In six months of his attendance at dinners, the only food he’d outright rejected after a single bite was Garrett’s offering of wasabi and cucumber ice cream. “Ronon told me that you two have become quite close.” 

And there it was. Grace’s hands still for a moment on the potato she was peeling. She bit her lower lip for a moment, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. “Did he?” 

“Mmm.” Teyla’s noncommittal response was accompanied by a gentle smile in Grace’s direction. That smile did nothing to relax her. The Athosian woman didn’t have a mean bone in her body, but still the very idea that Teyla knew what had happened was awkward. “I am curious as to how you feel about it?” 

How did she feel? She felt confused. She felt exhilarated. She felt… lost. Instead of saying that to Teyla, Grace forced a smile. “Ronon is a good man.” It was a bullshit answer and probably the most evasive one she’d ever given. 

Teyla, however, was not deterred. “When we spoke, he was quite vehement about his intentions.” 

Grace trained her eyes on the potato she was cutting and waited for Teyla to go on. Sure enough a moment later, the taller woman dumped her pieces of potato into the tall pot of water and reached for another, her voice still gentle. “One of the first things Ronon and I ever realized our peoples had in common is what my people call an abiding covenant. It is a promise made that cannot be broken.” 

At those words, Grace lowered the knife she held and lifted her head training her gaze on Teyla. The other woman was steadily peeling the potato she held with deft, sure strokes. Teyla glanced at her for a second and then returned her attention to the potato, taking Grace’s silence for a request to continue. “Ronon’s people call it a life vow. And much like the Athosians, among Satedans, to break such a vow is the gravest dishonor. It is unthinkable. Such an oath must only be broken by death.” 

Her confusion was mounting as she tried to follow, but came up empty. A moment later, she realized what Teyla had to be referring to. Grace closed her eyes and released a slow breath as she traced a finger over the freshly formed scar on the heel of her palm. “Are you telling me that Ronon thinks he’s bound to me because of what the elders forced him to do?” 

Teyla’s head lifted and in her intelligent eyes, Grace read both confirmation and pity. Grace pressed her lips into a thin line as that knowledge hit her in the gut. Tears stung at her eyes, but she refused to yield to them. “It wasn’t real, Teyla. Ronon knows it wasn’t real. He knows I wouldn’t hold him to it.” 

The other woman’s voice was soft, an echo of the sadness that began to rise inside Grace once more. “Does he?” 

Grace drew in a deep breath, refusing to give in to the urge to believe that Ronon was stupid enough to think they were bound because of what had been the best and worst twenty-four hours of her life. His frustration the night before when he’d come to apologize had been all too visceral. At the very least, she would let him explain, let him tell her his expectations. She could be patient. They’d done everything backwards, so it made sense if this was backwards as well. Grace kept her voice firm but gentle as she spoke. “Teyla, I appreciate that you care about Ronon and that you want to help him. I like you, and I respect you, so please know I say this with all the love I bear you as my friend. Butt out.” 

Teyla’s eyes widened in surprise and then a smile rose to her lips as she nodded. “Fair enough. You are right. It is not my business. I care for Ronon as my friend, and I want you both to be happy. I just want--” 

“Butt out.” Grace repeated a bit more firmly. “Just… peel the damn potatoes, okay?” 

****

Ronon reached for the bottle of wine that sat beside what remained of the turkey that had been picked nearly clean. It turned out the Thanksgiving, which Cole had made seem like a somber, nearly religious holiday, was just an excuse to eat more than usual. Way more. The sheer amount and variety of food had been shocking, with the dinner table looking more like the familiar Satedan feast day offerings of food than anything he’d seen so far on Atlantis. He refilled his wine glass and then tipped the bottle toward Grace in offering. She gave a nod and watched as he filled hers as well. 

As a group they’d managed to obliterate not only the food, but half a dozen bottles of ruus wine as well. At least there were half a dozen on the table, Ronon had no idea how many the actual number was. All he knew was that he was well-fed and his head was buzzing from both the amount of food in his belly and the wine that was stronger than it seemed. 

He set the bottle aside, reaching for the wine glass as he listened to Cole addressing the group as she took her turn of what Garrett had termed “counting their blessings”. Ronon liked this part of Thanksgiving too, he decided as he took a sip of the crystal clear white wine. 

Ronon listened with half an ear as Cole recounted a thanksgiving story from her childhood, something about a family game of football gone wrong. Beside him, Grace was sipping her wine, her eyes locked to the other woman, amusement written over her pretty face. Her cheeks were flushed from both laughter and the wine, and Ronon knew his had to be the same. Everyone at the table was in good spirits, even Teyla was grinning madly. Ronon leaned forward and scooted his chair closer in, eyes lingering on the form of the woman who had accidentally become his wife. If only she could ever accept that reality.

The bolt of heat that had zinged through his body when he’d arrived to find that she had indeed worn a dress. Not just any dress, but the same dress that had rendered him damn near senseless in the pantry that time. Apparently the holiday meant that someone had broken out the nice plates and flatware, along with a gold and brown plaid tablecloth. There was even a damn centerpiece, a woven horn thing with a napkin and bread spilling from it in a bed of greenery. 

Emboldened by the drink and the distraction of the conversation, Ronon trained his gaze on the woman speaking, even as he reached to lift the table cloth and settle it into Becque’s lap. Her gaze flicked to him for a moment as she registered that his hand was still beneath the table cloth, settling on her knee. Ronon met her eyes, narrowing his own in challenge, silently daring her to move his hand. Her neck colored red in a deepening blush when he slid his hand to her inner thigh, beneath the hem of her dress. 

Ronon saw the moment that she registered what he intended as she sat up straighter and reached for her wine glass, taking a long pull of the liquid before she set it back down. In that moment, Ronon had never been so grateful that the table was a tight fit for six people. He didn’t even have to lean over to curl his hand around her knee and tug it gently. He was rewarded with immediate cooperation, but saw the faintest trembling of her fingers on the stem of her wine glass. 

The conversation continued, with no one at the table seeming to notice that he was now resting one elbow on the table, looking for all the world like he was paying attention. Beside him, Grace’s cheeks had turned even more pink as he dragged his fingertips up that sweet flesh, stroking slowly, almost lazily over her skin. Her eyes fell closed for a moment, lush lips parting and then the sight of her tongue wetting her lips. Ronon’s cock surged to full life. “Pie.” The word made Ronon freeze as she suddenly blurted it out. “Teyla brought pie.”

Ronon’s fingers grazed her center and she jumped a little, then cleared her throat. He could feel the heat of her core, the dampness against the lace panties beneath his fingers. She was nervous, but as responsive as he remembered. Her voice was clearly nervous, higher pitched than usual. “I just need to go put it in the oven for a few minutes to warm it up.” 

Beneath the table, Ronon slid his fingers back down her leg, gently dragging her dress back into place. He gave a grin. “I’ll come too. You’re gonna need help with the plates.” When she offered no objection, he rose from his seat and headed straight for the kitchen. For a few seconds, he feared she wouldn’t follow but a moment later, he heard the soft sound of her footsteps. The second the kitchen door slid closed behind her, Ronon spun, gripping her by the waist and hauling her little body against his. 

****  
Grace was still fighting for control of her body, even as every nerve ending seemed to be on fire. Her head was buzzing from the wine and the unexpected addition of Ronon’s surreptitious teasing hadn’t helped with clarity at all. As the door slid closed behind her, he was suddenly everywhere. His hands on her waist, pulling her against him. Strong fingers sliding into her hair as he tugged, gently tipping her head to the side as his lips descended on hers in a kiss that could only be termed greedy. 

She felt him moving, stepping in closer as he maneuvered her toward the counter beside the door. His tongue swept over the seam of her lips as she heard a rumble emit from him, then the telltale movement of his hand in her peripheral vision as he blindly waved in the direction of the door controls. A soft beep indicated that it was locked, as though punctuating the moment when she parted her lips beneath his and his tongue swept past her lips, taking full possession of mouth with a confidence that startled her

For a heartbeat, the reason she’d come into the kitchen in the first place fled as her awareness narrowed to only Ronon. There was only his body against hers, the bite of the counter into her back, the hands that were sliding from her hair toward her dress and pulling it up. She heard a soft groan emit from him as his fingers swept up her bare thighs and gripped her panties, twisting the delicate lace in his fingers until she felt his lips leave her own. 

His breath was warm against her cheek as he rumbled out the words quietly. “Take them off.” 

Grace licked her lips nervously and tipped her head back to stare up at him. “Pie.” She breathed out the word, only to find him furrowing his brow in question. 

“What?” Ronon’s voice came once more as the fabric of her panties bit into her skin as he tightened his grip on the delicate fabric. He glanced toward the oven and then nodded. “How long do we have?” 

Her fogged mind was working overtime as she felt him release his grip on the lace panties slowly and take a step back. “Ten minutes.” Grace breathed out the words, and was met with Ronon’s eyes darkening as he nodded. 

His voice cut through the tension in the little kitchen once more as he repeated himself. “Take them off, Grace.” He stepped back and turned to retrieve the pie, slipping it into the oven. As she watched him lean forward to set the timer, she moved, spurred into motion by an odd mixture of arousal and curiosity, sliding the panties down her hips and letting her dress fall back into place.

When Ronon turned once more, his gaze zeroed in on the scrap of white lace in her hand. He reached out to take it from her, balling it up and tucking it into his pocket, out of sight. A moment later, he was on her again, his lips taking her own in a softer kiss as his hands settled at her waist once more. She felt them sliding to her rear and squeezing lightly for a moment before he lifted her from her feet and set her on the counter. What she wasn’t expecting was for his fingers to hook behind her knees, tugging her thighs open. 

His eyes flashed with that same predatory gleam she’d seen before and she fully expected his hands to go to his belt. She could see the outline of his cock as it strained against the dark leather of his trousers and in a moment of startled clarity, she realized that if he did free himself, if he did want to fuck her right there on the countertop she would allow it. Instead, Ronon had other plans. 

He uttered the words quietly. “You have to be quiet.” With that he hooked one hand around either leg and knelt. Grace’s eyes widened in the split second before she realized what he intended before his face was buried between her open thighs and that first, hot swipe of his tongue dragged over her center. Instantly, her mouth dropped open and a soft sound of surprise ushered forth.

She stared down at the top of his Ronon’s head, unable to catch her breath as she felt his grip on her legs tightened and he hauled her forward until she was barely still on the counter. His lips and tongue were suddenly targeting her clit with a ferocity she’d not ever considered he would be directing at her. Grace’s head fell back against the upper cabinet as one of her hands came to rest on top of the dreads that he’d captured neatly back off his face and the other gripped the edge of the counter. She hung on for dear life as she felt soft bristles of his beard playing havoc on her thighs just as his lips and tongue circled her clit, only barely flicking over the little bundle of nerves. 

In the next second though, that pressure shifted again and she felt his teeth scrape over her flesh ever so gently, adding just enough of a difference to send her spiraling out of control. Then, with a level of skill she had not seen coming, he was licking and sucking at her as if his life depended on it and she broke her silence. Rapid pants and soft gasps emitted from her as her fingers tightened in his hair, unsure whether she wanted him to continue or to stop. Sensation slammed into her. It was no longer simply arousal. It was exquisite torture, silken and sweet, hard-edged like a razor about to cut her open, all at the same time. 

The orgasm blindsided her from nowhere and her body seemed to have a mind of its own. Grace’s spine arched as her hips thrust forward, meeting his every movement as she came. Her head slammed into the cabinets as she released low, keening moan, unable to stop herself. She stared down at Ronon through half-lidded eyes, only to see him peering back up at her, his eyes blazing with heat and intent. The perfection of that moment only seemed to go on and on as he dragged his tongue over her more slowly, guiding her down from that release as surely as he’d pulled her to it and over the edge. 

It was the tender kiss that he pressed to first her left thigh, and then her right, and then her drenched sex that startled her most though. It was a move that was both sweet and lingering. He remained there, kneeling but not touching save to slowly drag his lips over her skin toward her knee. When he rose a moment later, his fingers raked over her legs and up toward her hips before he touched her face. That time when he kissed her, she could taste a curious mixture of herself and him on his lips. The kiss was slow and sweet, but no less thorough, as if he were bringing her down from that high and turning it into a slow burn. Ronon Dex was a chemical reaction brought to life. His forehead came to rest against hers for a moment and she opened her mouth to speak, to ask him what the hell that was about, or maybe even to thank him, she really didn’t know. The timer beeped softly, and she was prevented from spilling her guts as Ronon lifted his head and dragged his thumb over the column of her throat before releasing her and stepping away. A smirk rose to his lips as ever-expressive mossy eyes shifted yet again, this time to mischief. “Pie’s done.”


	18. How 'bout a shot of truth in that denial cocktail?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a little more smut. Just for variety.

By the time he was pushing the last bite of pie into his mouth and finishing off the wine Lorne had refilled his glass with, Ronon was on edge all over again. Grace had managed to somehow make it through the remainder of the meal with only the slightest trembling of her hands as she cut the pie and served those around the table. The taste of her on his lips lingered, and though the pie was sweet, she was still sweeter. He was aching by the time he set his wine glass down and leaned over the murmur into her ear. “Come to my room.”

He watched her throat as she swallowed and then responded with the barest hint of a nod. He’d sailed right past buzzed and was well into tipsy. The goodbyes took longer than necessary, with Lorne and Garrett volunteering to clean up. Ronon slung an arm of Teyla’s shoulder as he grinned. She was smiling up at him indulgently as she waited until they had exited the transporter closest to the level their quarters were on to speak. “You seemed to have fun.” 

Ronon chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head in a rare display of affection before he drew away. “Goodnight Teyla.” With that, he left her alone and headed a few doors down of his own room. Once inside, Ronon surveyed it with a critical eye. It wasn’t as pristine as Grace’s had seemed to be the night before. Knives and weapons covered the top of his dresser, along with his empty gun belt. Ronon moved to his bed and tucked a hand beneath the pillows, drawing out his blaster and setting it on the bedside table. Accidentally stunning his bride mid-thrust was not something he wanted to have to explain to Beckett. The taste of her release lingered on his tongue, overriding even the alcohol. He was so hard he ached in a way he hadn’t since the last time he’d woken next to her. A smile curved up the corners of his lips as he heard the door chime. 

Casting one last glance back to his bed, Ronon’s smile turned into a feral grin. The sheets were clean, as were the furs he meticulously maintained. So what if the rest of the room could use a good dusting and his shoes were in a pile beside the laundry hamper. If Grace’s attention was on the state of his laundry, he was doing everything wrong. He moved to the door, kicking off his boots as he went and reached out to swipe a hand over the controls. 

The door slid open to reveal Grace, standing there in the hallway, an expression of uncertainty on her face. The pull of his body toward hers was undeniable and Ronon didn’t try to resist it as he reached out to slide his fingers around the back of her neck and pull her inside. His lips were on hers before the door even closed all the way. He heard the soft, questioning moan and felt her hands come to rest on his chest before she pushed lightly. 

Ronon instantly released her lips, lifting his head to stare at her in question. His head swam with the ever-increasing effects of the alcohol as he waited for her to say whatever it was she needed to say. Fuck, she was beautiful, standing there with her lips swollen from the kisses he’d given her in the kitchen, her cheeks flushed a healthy pink. Her voice was low as she spoke. “We’re really doing this?” 

His grin returned as he lowered his head to brush his lips over hers, drawing her lower lip into his mouth and sucking at it gently before nipping lightly. He released her mouth with a low sound of confirmation. “Yeah. We’re doing this. If you want to leave, you should go now.” 

He felt her palms splay over his chest, then drift downward as her eyes lifted to his. “Ronon, I don’t understand you. I don’t understand what you want.” 

Ronon tipped his head to the side and exhaled as he slid his arm around her waist and lifted her easily from her feet. Her lips were soft beneath his as he turned in place and began to make his way to the bed. He granted her the mercy of a warning and an explanation all wrapped into one drunken statement. “I want you, naked underneath me while I fuck you until neither of us can move.” 

The soft, answering groan was the very epitome of feminine frustration. Ronon knew this woman well enough by now to know that her need to understand everything around her was working against them both. He captured her lips again as he settled her on her feet beside his bed and gripped her dress. He broke away from her only long enough to tug it over her head, baring her body to his greedy gaze. He still had her underwear in his pocket, but he’d not realized her breasts would be bare as well. Ronon raked a hand over her shoulder, down between those pretty breasts and over her belly as he groaned and released his hold on the dress, letting the fabric fall to the floor, ignored. 

This woman was trying to kill him, he knew it in that moment, as he muttered the words quietly. “Turn around.” She seemed to understand that there was more to it than simply sex, because she turned obediently and Ronon was given a prime view of that pert bottom he’d first admired when it had been encased in leather leggings months ago. He reached out to settle his hands at her hips, thumbs dragging over the ripe globes of her bottom before he took his sweet time, tracing up her spine, over her side. Her skin was like silk beneath his fingers and it took everything in him not to yield to the need to simply push her over the top of his dresser and bury himself inside her then and there. Ronon’s lips curved upward as his gaze flicked to the blades that lay there. Another time he would do exactly that. He lifted a hand and plucked the bobby pins from her hair, letting the thick, dark braid fall down her back. She offered no objection when he simply opened his palm and dropped the pins before yanking the hair tie from the end of the braid impatiently. 

Ronon pushed the mass of hair over her shoulder and spoke softly. “Undo the braid.” He watched as she began to obey, the very sight of her doing as he told her causing his belly to tighten further. He tugged his shirt off, his eyes lingering on the line of her back. By the time she had turned to face him one more, hair wavy and wild down her back, Ronon’s clothing was discarded on the floor with hers. 

Her eyes widened when she realized he was as naked as she was. He stepped forward, the scent of her arousal and that floral whatever the fuck it was she seemed to always smell of driving him onward. When he felt her hands rise and slide around his neck, pulling him closer when he kissed her again, Ronon discovered his own personal version of heaven and hell co-existing in a single heartbeat. 

****

His hands on her skin felt as good as his lips did against her own. Faced with a very naked Ronon, something inside Grace had fractured apart. Those neither of them were remotely sober, and they weren’t in danger, the fact that he had stood before her, confident and unashamed in his nakedness had made her envious. Even as he had reached for her again, she wanted to take some part of that confidence into herself and so she’d twined her fingers around his neck and pulled him down, kissing him with everything that was in her, trying to convey the rising need that she lacked the words for. 

Fortunately, Ronon didn’t seem to need words at that point, and neither did she as she rose on her tiptoes and nipped at his lower lip. He parted his own lips, his tongue curling around hers, teasing and tasting in that way that set her skin on fire. She felt his fingers tightened on her hip, lifting her from her feet and a moment later registered movement as he took a seat on the bed, his hands moving to guide her to straddle his lap. A moment later, when his lips left hers, Grace felt his lips tracing down her neck. 

Her eyes slammed closed when she realized that his talented tongue had begun delivering tiny licks, like a cat lapping at milk. A low moan ushered forth from her, without her conscious thought and her hips rocked against the bare, hard line of his cock. When Ronon closed his lips over one nipple, sucking gently, her back arched and Grace heard a ragged whimper. The sensation of his length jerking in reaction to the sound made another wave of want crash over her.

She felt his hand sliding from her hip back to her bottom, urging her upward as his mouth released her breast murmured the words against her shoulder. “You’re so fucking sweet.” His fingers gripped her, holding her in place for as his hips moved beneath hers and then she felt the head of his cock pressing to her entrance. When she opened her eyes, focusing on his face in the dim light of the room, his own were locked to her face. The expression in those mossy depths were unlike anything she’d seen before, dark and half-feral with unveiled want. 

“Slow and easy.” Ronon’s voice was deeper than usual, tinged with tension. Curiously, Grace could feel his fingers shaking ever so slightly as he slid an arm around her waist and the other lifted to tuck beneath her hair at the nape of her neck. He didn’t move for a moment, didn’t urge her onward as he tipped his head to brush his lips over hers, his thumb brushing the sensitive flesh beneath her earlobe. Only then did she hear his whispered words once more. “As slow as you need to, Gracie.” 

An unexpected surge of affection washed over her at the unexpected tenderness this man was showing her. She’d only ever seen the aggression that seemed ingrained in him. But there was no trace of it now. There was restraint, and even sweetness as his arms tightened around her for a second, as if to reassure her. His grip loosened and he drew in a shuddering breath. It was with that breath that Grace realized fully what it was costing him to surrender this control to her. Ronon was not a man who yielded anything. Ever. And yet he was giving her this freely. 

Grace blinked to try to focus her gaze on his face, leaning forward to brush her lips over his, nipping gently at his lower lip as she began to sink down on him. She heard the soft curse he uttered beneath his breath when his eyes fell closed and his head tipped back. She’d forgotten just how big he was, or maybe it just felt larger because of the position she’d never been in, but his cock felt all too good as she lowered herself. His groan was one of pure, masculine satisfaction mingling with an odd note of what sounded like agony. 

She closed her own eyes as she felt his shaft stretching her in an entirely new way, her body pushed to its limits as a whimper escaped her and she tightened her hands on his shoulders. When she felt his hips against hers, she heard a soft thunk and cracked her eyes open to see his head against the wall behind him, his fingers sliding to her hips to lock her into place. “Don’t move.” Though the words were framed as a plea, there was unequivocal command in his voice that sent a bolt of heat down her spine. 

On instinct, she shifted, and felt his fingers suddenly tighten on her hips to the point of pain as his eyes opened, staring at her with a suddenly thunderous expression. “I said be still, Grace.”

Those stern words zinged through her arousal fogged brain and she nodded, obeying without a second though. His grip eased a moment later and only then did she realized his breathing was coming faster, and his voice was strained. “I’d forgotten how fucking good you feel.” His head lifted from the wall and tipped forward, resting his forehead against hers. That hot whisper only added to the flipflops her belly was currently doing as she felt his fingers slide to her rear and urge her upward. “Slow and easy, a’ko. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

This time his voice was tight, as if his control were already dancing on a razor thin edge that could break it at any moment. She slid an arm around his shoulders, her other hand brushing his jaw, reveling in the soft stubble against her fingers, adding yet another layer of sensation to her already overloaded awareness. She let him guide her movements, lifting herself off his length and then back down in a slow, sweet slide that had his name falling from her lips softly. 

He groaned again, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he stared at her, his gaze locked to her own as he watched her face with a wolfish expression. It was the most intimate moment she’d shared with him, somehow closer than when he’d taken her the first time. Even the second time, when there’d been an odd intensity to his movements, it hadn’t been like this. It was as though Ronon were laying himself bare as he urged her to keep moving, setting a slow, torturous pace as she rode him. 

Every second stretched into the next, bringing with it a new emotion that made her already befuddled brain raw with a level of bare need she hadn’t known existed. And then suddenly the guidance shed its tenderness and though the slow pace remained, she heard his voice one again, the word coming as a command. “Faster.”

Ronon’s lips moved, baring his teeth as his fingers bit into her flesh once more, guiding her up and then down, as she gave over to her own need for still more contact, more of that connection, more of the sensation of his body joined with hers. The answering groan he released was harsher and somehow even sweeter to her ears, as she realized he was still holding back, for her. Even through the wine that flowed through her veins, heart hammering, she knew this wasn’t his way. He was giving her this, when everything in the large body beneath hers was coiled and ready to strike. Of her own accord, Grace murmured his name softly and began to rise and fall on the sweet length that somehow managed to unravel and rebuild her entire understanding of him simultaneously. 

The hands at her hips were now gripping her tightly, coupling with the pleasure of every movement as he took control, guiding her pace and somehow showing her a new way to move. When her hips met his, he did something with his body beneath hers, his pubic bone grinding against hers for a moment in a dance that seemed to make her own body sing. Whatever it was that he was doing only intensified the pleasure and only a few heartbeats later, her world exploded around her. 

****

Ronon watched as Grace’s face contorted and she released a soft cry as he felt her walls clamping down on him. He groaned at the sensation of her body as it held onto him even as he took control of her movements fully, hauling her up and down on his cock. He locked his arms around hers, his teeth bared as he felt her release around him, adding still more to the heat that welcomed him with each stroke. 

He’d promised himself that he would be gentle with her and so far he’d managed to hold to that, at least until he heard his name falling from her lips. “Ronon.” 

He slid his arms around her and rose up on his knees. Her legs went around his waist in a movement that spoke of pure feminine instinct and Ronon lost all ability to think. One hand shot out to catch himself as he lowered her to the bed on her back beneath him and he took full control. The precious woman beneath him allowed it, even as her breathing came in ragged pants, her back arching as he began to thrust into her faster, finally allowing himself to reach for the inevitable. It was as much her sound as her body that sent him hurtling toward the edge. Her whimpers, the way she matched his thrusts with an eagerness that couldn’t be taught, but was purely instinctive. Her hips crashed into his own with every sweet reentry into the drenched channel that welcomed him. 

Fire lit at the base of his spine and without a word, without a single coherent thought, he slid a hand to her ass and locked her into place as his hips moved in the age old rhythm that had begun with the countdown of his heartbeats, driving him ever-closer to oblivion. Ronon aligned his body with hers, crushing her little form to him as he balanced on his elbow, threading his fingers into her hair. Unable to form the words he wanted, to tell her he was sorry that once more he’d devolved into this thing of pure greed, instead, the only coherent thought that rang through his head was the single last thing he knew he should give voice to. “Mine.” It was a snarled, singular syllable and he felt her come undone around him a second time as he breathed it out into her ear. 

Possession coupled with the bone deep need to mark her and the instinctive drive to ensure that no other man would ever touch what was his. Ronon’s awareness was only on her, the recognition that something had shifted, changed, and this woman was now a need, rather than a choice crashed over him. He released a low sound as he drove into her one final time, body tensing as he came. Her name was an unmitigated plea to whatever gods really existed as he felt Grace’s body beneath him, clinging to him as he released himself inside her. Hot whispers flowed from him, freely and without filter, telling her everything in that moment in a string of sweet whispers that promised her everything he wanted to be able to give her. Ronon’s hips moved against her own with each reflexive jerk of his cock as he filled her, giving over to the need to give to her even as he took from her with every male instinct there was. 

****  
The heat of his voice against her ear as he spoke words she didn’t understand, Satedan words that came in a rush, as if he’d forgotten how to speak English. Grace relished those syllables as Ronon gifted her with the tight, thick sounds of a man who was lost inside himself. The sound of that loss of control was as sweet as the sensation of his release washing into her with every jerk of his hips against her. He held himself still, his words falling silent and then it happened. Ronon collapsed on top of her and she found herself being crushed beneath more than two hundred pounds of sated, boneless Satedan. 

Grace’s own head was still spinning as she felt his fingers loosen on her body, his face buried in the curve of her neck. He was silent now, save for the heavy, fast breaths he drew in. She could barely draw breath herself, but she was unwilling to draw his attention to the fact that he was the heaviest individual she’d ever encountered in her life and he was now dead weight on top of her. Instead, with still-shaking hands, Grace dared to stroke down his sweat-slicked back and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. She could feel his heartbeat hammering against his ribs, a violent tattoo in the aftermath of his release, echoing the intensity of her own rapid pulse. 

At the touch, she felt him draw in a slow breath and then exhale in a soft sound of approval. Grace’s lips curved upward into a slow smile as she tipped her head and brushed a kiss over his jaw, the skin beneath his ear. Growing bolder, she reached up to stroke his hair, the soft dreadlocks obscuring his face where several had fallen free of the band that had held them back. He’d tipped his head and was peering at her, his expression oddly vulnerable. His words surprised her in both their honesty and their unexpected sweetness. “Sorry. I tried not to be rough.” 

Her own lips curved into a smile as she answered him without even thinking to censor herself. “You didn’t and I wish you’d stop assuming you did. Just trust me to tell you if you ever do.” 

He blinked at her, then lifted his head, staring at her, his expression oddly pleased. “That means there’s going to be a next time?” 

For the life of her, Grace couldn’t understand why he’d think there wouldn’t be. She shrugged and lifted one foot, dragging it down the long, muscular legs that still rested against her own. “Only if you get off of me and let me breathe.” 

Green eyes widened for a moment and she heard him breathe out the words quietly. “Oh shit. Sorry.” She was then treated to the sight of Ronon Dex flushing in embarrassment as he withdrew from her and pushed himself up on his elbows, then sat back on his knees. Instantly, Grace missed the heat of his body and was surprised to find that she was, for once, unashamed when his eyes swept over her slowly, as though surveying her for damage. She felt a telltale blush creep up into her cheeks when his hand came to rest on her knee, strong fingers stroking idly as his gaze lingered on her the apex of her open thighs and the evidence of what they’d done.

He shifted, his body bending to press a kiss to the inside of her knee before holding a hand out for her to take. He pulled her upright and shifted, pushing the plush furs from beneath them. A few seconds later, Grace found herself stretched out on the narrow bed that barely seemed large enough for him, let alone both of them. Ronon was determined to make it work though, evidenced by the fact that he’d wound an arm around her, draping a leg over her own before he’d pulled the furs up to cover them. 

He was quiet and still for a moment before he snaked a hand out and reached up to turn off the light that burned on the bedside table. Grace tipped her head toward his, her voice betraying her own amusement. “I guess that means I’m staying the night.” 

In the darkness, Ronon’s fingers brushed her cheek slowly and she felt the single word whisper against her lips, as if it were a given. “Yep.” This time, when he kissed her, it was almost laughably chaste and with it, everything in her world seemed to align to make sense in that way that only good sex and good wine could make sense. As his arm slid around her body, already she was relaxing, eyes sliding closed. Ronon’s lips touched her forehead in another of those absurdly tender kisses that exposed so much more about him than she’d ever thought possible, his voice a bare murmur in the darkness. “Goodnight, a’ko.”


	19. Even as your body betrays you, your mind denies it.

When Ronon woke the next morning, the first thing he felt was the familiar ache of his cock that had accompanied him every morning for months in a way that it hadn’t since he was a young man. When he’d been running, his libido had all but shut down. But now, the soft curves of the petite woman who was curled up against him made it seem like the years without human contact were very far away. Her back to his chest provided him with the more than pleasant sensation of that pert rear nestled against his cock. 

It would be so easy to gently push her to her belly and slide into her. Ronon tightened his arm around Grace and cracked his eyes open. The first thing he saw was hair. So much hair. And it was fucking everywhere. Over his face, over the pillows, over her shoulder. Soft waves from the night before had morphed into wild curls that tickled his eyes and nose. Ronon grinned and rose up on one elbow, carefully gathering the mass of curls and pushing it up and onto the pillow. 

He lowered his head and brushed a kiss over her shoulders as his hips moved against that sweet backside. She stirred ever so slightly, a soft, questioning murmur muffled in the pillows. Ronon parted his lips, tongue flicking over the shell of her ear before he greeted her quietly. “Good morning.” 

From his vantage point propped up on his elbow, he watched as her eyes flicked open, brow crinkling in adorable confusion as she stared toward the wall in front of her. Ronon splayed his fingers on her belly, his hips rocking against her body once more as he trailed kisses over her neck and shoulders. She stiffened instantly, her eyes flying open wide. Ronon froze at this unexpected movement. 

Grace was out of his arms in an instant, scrambling away from him as far as she could as she rolled to face him. “Careful!” Ronon reached out and caught her by the wrist, jerking her back a second before she cracked her head against the other nightstand. He’d done it more than once himself. “Easy. You almost hit your head.” 

She was still so tantalizing close on the narrow mattress, now curled up against the pile of pillows, staring at him as she blinked owlishly. Ronon sighed and pushed himself up into a seated position to face her. Looked like morning sex was off the table. She was still staring at him, her ever-expressive face betraying the wheels in her mind spinning. A second later, she relaxed and buried her face in her hands as she released a heavy breath. At least Ronon now knew she remembered everything. 

His heart sank as he watched her shoulders slump, as if disappointed in something. He remained quiet though, giving her this moment to process whatever it was that was running through her mind. When she lifted her head again, she was peering at him steadily, her face rapidly reddening. She didn’t speak, but instead simply stared at him. Ronon sighed and licked his lips, leaning forward to cup her cheek as he forced his voice to steadiness. “It’s okay.” With that, he kissed her forehead lightly, the exact opposite of what he really wanted to do and rose to his feet. “Want to come shower with me?” 

Her eyes slid over his naked form and Ronon held still. She was staring and he didn’t mind. He felt, as much as saw, those ice blue eyes drag over his body, from the dishevel dreadlocks to the recently acquired scar on his torso where Weir had shot him several weeks before, to the still hard erection that stood proudly, pointed at her like one of the puddle jumper’s drones zeroed in on a target, over his thighs, his calves and finally ending at his bare feet. She didn't answer until her eyes flicked back up to his face once more. “I should go.” 

“Why?” Ronon wasn’t going to let her off that easy. If she was going to run after the most incredible experience they’d shared yet, he was damn well going to know why. 

He watched as she gripped the furs to herself, hiding her naked body from his gaze as she leaned forward to snatch up her dress from where it lay on the floor by his feet. She didn’t even seem to realize it offered him a prime view of her naked ass, and the faint marks on her hips from where his fingers had bitten into her flesh hours before. As she registered the question, she sat back down on the bed, her face flushing in obvious embarrassment. “I have work…” 

“Don’t lie to me, Grace. It doesn’t look good on you.” Ronon interrupted her softly. Instantly, her eyes fell to his feet. “We’re both off today. Holiday weekend. The only people working are essential personnel.” 

Ronon watched as her eyes closed and she began to pull the dress over her head. His disappointment was outweighed only by his frustration with her unwillingness to acknowledge what was between them. “You’re really gonna do this?” His words were harsher than he intended. 

Grace’s gaze flew to his face as she rose to her feet and she smoothed the dress into place. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just have a headache. I drank too much.” 

“Stop lying to me.” Ronon forced his voice to lower. He saw her eyes widen and then watched as those full lips he wanted nothing more than to kiss, even now when he was growing more agitated with her, thinned into a grim line. 

He stepped closer, his hand lifting as he reached out to poke her in the shoulder with every word to make his point. “You want to run away, fine. But at least be honest about it.” 

Her brow furrowed and her gaze turned stormy. Even pissed off she was beautiful. Ronon watched as she fought back something, probably the urge to snap at him. Ancestors, he wanted her to snap at him. He wanted her to yell. He wanted her to do something, anything other than crumple as if she lacked the spine to stand up to him. “I don’t know what you want from me.” She finally spoke softly. 

Those words drew Ronon up short. “You’re kidding.” He blurted the words out without thinking. 

Her lovely face reddened even more and this time, she did fight back. She lifted a hand and pushed him back. “What the hell is your problem?” 

He loved the way her face flushed with her anger as she finally treated him like she wasn’t scared of him. Ronon grinned, despite the annoyance that surged through him. “My problem is that I’m doing everything I can to make it clear to you that you’re mine and I’m not going to let that go.” 

Her eyes closed for a moment and her head dropped as she breathed out in annoyance. “Ronon. I’m not a fucking object to be owned. You don’t get to just declare that I’m yours, like I was your gun or one of your knives.”

Ronon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stepped back, lifting a hand to ward her off as she stepped forward. “If I thought you were an object, it would have made this entire disaster easier. I’ve been honest with you since the beginning. I told you you were mine after the elder required the marriage rites. I told you that when I was inside you the first time. And the second time. And last night. Why do you think it’s any different when I’m not fucking you?” 

“Because it wasn’t real.” She hissed the words as she shoved her feet into her shoes. “Because I’m not some pity project, Ronon. I know what’s going to happen when you get tired of fucking me.” 

His belly tightened in disgust at those words. “What did you just say to me?” 

He watched as Grace’s head lifted, her usually kind, sweet gaze now clouded with unexpected tears. “If you want this to just be sex, then say that. It’s fine. I can fuck you until we get tired of it. I like it. I like having sex with you. But you’re the one demanding honesty, Ronon, and you haven’t given me a single ounce of it. You don’t get to stand there and tell me you have feelings for me when you never paid a moment’s attention to me before we went on that mission.” 

“Feelings?” He was growing more confused by the second. “Of course I have feelings for you.” 

She barked out a harsh laugh. “Oh? And what feelings are those? I’d love to know.” 

“Right now pissed off is the primary one!” Ronon watched as she seemed to wilt under those words. He continued without bothering to censor himself. “At this moment in time I’d very much like to bind and gag you so you’ll stop talking long enough to listen to what I’m saying.” 

She folded her arms over her chest, defiance lighting up those eyes he loved, making them glitter with the force of her anger. “I’m pissed too.” 

“I noticed.” Ronon retorted and then shook his head. “Are you gonna stand there and tell me you’re in love with me Grace? Because we both know that’s bullshit.” 

His words seemed to draw her up short. She stilled, her expression going blank. He continued without stopping. “You want me to be honest about my feelings? That’s what I’m trying to do. You have to cut me some fucking slack. I told you the other night that I’m not going to ever be a man from your world and you said you didn’t want me to be. But you’re standing here right now demanding I talk about my fucking feelings like I was Lorne or Sheppard. I don’t want to make a declaration like that because when I do, I want it to be true.” 

Ronon fisted his hands, shaking them in the air, when all he really wanted to do was shake her and make her see reason. “You’re mine. It’s that fucking simple. You’re the one making it some huge thing when it doesn’t have to be complicated.” 

“Right. It’s so simple. I belong to you. That’s it. Bottom line?” She blazed with sudden, righteous fury. “So why doesn’t it work the other way? Why aren’t you standing here saying you’re mine too? Do I own you too, Ronon? Is that how it works? Enlighten me because I don’t know.” 

“Of course you do!” He roared the words without stopping to consider that she truly may not have known. “That’s how it works! You’re mine. I’m yours.” 

She froze again, this time, the color draining from her face. Ronon stared at her, still breathing heavily. Grace drew in a breath and released it slowly. She shook her head and stepped past him. Ronon’s head dropped as he heard the door slide open and the sound of quiet footsteps retreating as she left without another word. 

****

Grace’s heart pounded as she stepped into her room. She’d managed to hold back the tears as she’d made her way to her quarters, but as soon as the door slid closed behind her, she broke. God, she wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to go back and shake Ronon Dex until the scrambled words he’d spoken made sense. They weren’t in a relationship. They were fucking. And even that was probably the worst possible idea. 

She scrubbed a hand over her face as she stood in the middle of the room. His face had been red as he’d shouted at her that he was hers, just as she was his. But how the hell did that work? He’d said he had feelings for her, but flat out refused to say what those feelings were. Tenderness? Friendship? Lust? Definitely lust. Maybe even friendship. Was Ronon even capable of tenderness? 

It had been so long since she’d cried that Grace wasn’t even sure what to do to stop it. To her horror, she realized her lower lip was poking out and actually trembling as the tears fell. Dear god, she was pouting. What the hell was wrong with her? 

He’d been vulnerable with her, she knew that. It was like a lion showing its soft underbelly, trusting that it wouldn’t be torn open. She knew that at his core, the gruff exterior and the dry sense of humor were a facade, hiding a shy man who was as insecure about some things as any other person would be. Grace’s mind spun. She was losing it. The entire thing was toxic, to them both. Maybe they were just too damn different for it to work, even if she knew what to call whatever it was that was growing between them. 

If only she knew what he meant, what he really meant. Ronon usually didn’t bother to veil his meaning. But this time, what he’d actually said made no sense. He was hers. What the hell did that mean? Grace drew herself up to her full height, the tears finally slowing enough that she could breathe again. A shower, then work. She had more than enough to do and it would probably do her good to get out of her own head for a while. The Ronon problem would be there tomorrow. 

****

Ronon leaned against the wall beside Heightmeyer’s office door. Getting an appointment with the woman had been the easy part. Especially since the woman had been hounding him about the follow up sessions he’d missed. One of the conditions Weir had placed on him when he’d arrived months before was mandatory sessions to “ease the transition”. He’d gone only grudgingly, and when Heightmeyer had tried to get him to talk, he’d merely inquired if talking were mandatory. When she’d shaken her head, they’d settled into companionable silence for the next hour. And then she’d let him do that every session that followed for two whole months. That was one of the reasons Ronon liked the woman. She didn’t force him. Ever. 

As the door slid open and a sobbing Marine emerged, he straightened. The man didn’t look at him as he sniffled and headed for the stairs. Dimly, Ronon recognized him as one of the men who’d lost a teammate to a Wraith ambush a few days during an off-world mission. There was no judgment. He’d done his fair share of crying in private as well, when the same thing had happened to him on Sateda. He’d had nightmares for months after it had happened the last time, when he’d lost two members of his squad. 

He waited for the woman to beckon him inside and then dropped into a seat beside the window. To his surprise, she didn’t take up residence in the chair behind her desk, but rather sat across from him, offering him a smile. “I have to say, I was pleasantly surprised when you asked to see me, Ronon.” 

He stared at Heightmeyer for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Is it okay?” 

“Of course.” Her friendly demeanor set him at ease. “How have you been?” 

“I’m good.” He answered immediately and then shook his head. No. That was a lie. THat was his default answer. Ronon cleared his throat and tried again. “I mean, I’m mostly good. I just need… advice.” 

“Advice?” She echoed the words quietly, then splayed her hands open as if to welcome his question. “I’m all ears. How can I help?” 

Ronon pressed his lips into a thin line, suddenly wondering if this had been the best idea. “So, um… when I first came here, you told me that whatever I say here is private, right?” 

Heightmeyer nodded. “Completely.” 

“Not even Sheppard or Weir?” Ronon licked his lips nervously. He shifted in his seat, sitting up straight, studying the doctor closely. 

She confirmed this with a nod. “No one.”   
At this, Ronon relaxed a little, then leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees. Though he knew they wouldn’t be overheard, it still went against his every instinct, to expose himself like this. “I went on a mission with Becque a while back.” 

Heightmeyer gave a minute nod. “Yes.” 

“And something happened.” He bowed his head for a moment, groping ineffectually for the words. “We…. she and I… that is to say we um… we started something. And then when we got home, we’ve continued it. Kind of.” 

Heightmeyer arched a brow at this. “Oh. So, you’re trying to tell me the two of you are in a relationship.” 

Ronon nodded, eyes locked to Heightmeyer’s face as he studied her for any sign of disapproval, but found none. Instead, there was only concern. “Yeah.” 

The womans’ brow furrowed for a moment. “You’re ready for this?” 

“I am.” He answered simply. “Kind of. And it doesn’t matter if I am or not, it’s done.” 

“Done?” Heightmeyer’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry, maybe you could explain what that means.” 

Ronon’s jaw tightened. “We’re married.” He stated this bluntly. 

Heightmeyer’s jaw dropped. “I’m… you’re… o...kay.” Ronon could tell by the way she drew out the word that she didn’t understand. He tried his best not to be impatient. “Married. To Becque. You two have only known each other a few months. Are you sure that was wise, Ronon?”   
“We didn’t have a choice. The Makanesh are nutjobs. If I hadn’t performed the marriage rites, then it’s likely they’d have taken Becque and sold her off, maybe even off-world. I couldn’t let that happen.” Ronon admitted quietly. “But it’s done.” 

The woman seemed to heave a sigh of relief. “Okay. I think I understand. So you’re married in their eyes. And you believe this to be a binding agreement?” 

Ronon tipped his head, pinning the woman with a stare. It was very much like the conversation he’d had with Teyla. “It’s a life vow.” At Heightmeyer’s blank stare, he knew he would need to elaborate. “It’s a matter of honor. It’s a vow that I can’t break. I don’t want to break. And that’s not why I’m here. I’m not here to try to get out of it, or whatever it is that you’re thinking.” 

He saw understanding dawn in her eyes. “I’m not judging you, Ronon. I’m just trying to understand. And now I think I do. So you’re not here to try to sort out your feelings about the marriage then?” 

“No. It’s a commitment and I don’t break my word.” It pained Ronon, to even have to explain that, but he was starting to realize that it wasn’t always so plain to her own people just how serious these things were. 

Heightmeyer cleared her throat and then nodded. “Okay. Go on.” 

“Grace doesn’t seem to understand it though. She thinks I’m not serious. I guess she thinks I’m not really committed because it happened in such an unexpected way. I need to know what I can do to change that.” Ronon finally admitted what had been bothering him for the better part of a week since Grace had stormed out of his quarters. She’d been actively avoiding him ever since. “She thinks it’s just sex.” 

He watched as the doctor’s eyes widened. There was that surprise again. She nodded slowly. “Oh. I can see how that might be a problem.And when you talk to her about it, how does that go?” 

Ronon slumped back into the chair, the defeat he’d been fighting for days starting to creep in. “She won’t talk to me. I walk in the room, she leaves. She sees me in the corridor, she takes off in the other direction. I’m not sure what else to do. I was hoping that maybe…” He lifted a hand and scratched at the underside of his jaw, hesitating before he forged onward. “Maybe I could bring her here and you could talk to her. Make her understand.” 

Heightmeyer nodded slowly, and once more, Ronon was grateful that the woman was the least judgmental person he’d met since he arrived on Atlantis. “I’m not comfortable playing go-between, Ronon. But what I am willing to do is conduct a few sessions for the two of you, together. You obviously want to improve communication between the two of you and that’s commendable. Why don’t you check with Grace and we’ll schedule something for sometime in the next few days.” 

Relief flooded through Ronon. “Yeah?” 

“Of course. Marriage isn’t always an easy adjustment and I think it’s great that you’re willing to do the work. So I’m absolutely willing to help.” Heightmeyer gave him another of those reassuring smiles. “Relax, Ronon. I’m sure that everything is going to be fine. If Grace is half as open about this as you’re trying to be, and I know it goes against your nature, then I’m sure we’ll get the ball rolling in the right direction.”


	20. If I'm sincere today, what does it matter if I regret it tomorrow?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N - The book Ronon is reading from is "Are you there God? It's me, Margaret." I think it's a funny ass image.

Grace stared down at the planet from the co-pilot’s seat in the jumper beside Lorne. Nothing on the scanners indicated this mission would be anything besides routine. She’d been with the off-world team for nearly six months now and it was eerie how it all came back to her. She reached out to manipulate the controls in front of her, zooming the image in on the mainland of the planet they’d just come through the space-gate above. “There we go.” 

“That tiny cluster of lifesigns?” Andy was up and out of his seat, shoving himself unceremoniously between them for a better look. “There can’t be more than a hundred people down there.” 

“I’m going to take us in for a closer look. You might want to sit down.” Evan’s voice was distracted, clearly focused on the half of the screen where the results of the atmospheric scans were now displayed. “Everything looks good. Let’s do a flyby before we touch down. Grace, where do you want us to land?” 

She leaned forward, reaching out to indicate the mouth of the wide valley the settlement was built into. “Looks like there’s a clearing, right there.” Ringed by foothills and forest, the geography of the planet reminded her of her time in the Pacific Northwest, with massive peaks rivaling any mountain on earth. 

Erickson piped up from the back as he took a seat once more. “You think maybe they have a bakery?” 

“Is food all you think about?” Andy’s voice held a note of exasperation. “You know, there are more important things.” 

“Oh, please. Just last week you ate your way through the entire menu at that tavern where we had lunch.” Erickson shot back good-naturedly. 

Grace watched as Lorne rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me pull over, kids.” He quipped as he eased the cloaked jumper lower, taking a slow pass over the settlement. 

As expected, it was tiny. No more than a handful of buildings. But what none of them had expected was the architecture. It looked oddly familiar. She leaned forward, her head tipping to the side as she gestured to Lorne. “We’re cloaked, right?” 

“Yeah. Why?” She could feel his eyes on her as she peered through the windscreen. 

“Drop the HUD for a second, will you?” A moment later, there was a faint beep and the display disappeared. “Can you just get closer to that structure in the middle?” 

With a nod, Lorne maneuvered the jumper closer. It took a moment to register and when it did, Grace’s heart sank. “Oh no.” 

“What?” Lorne’s voice was tight. “What oh no?” 

Grace could only stare in mute surprise at the wooden structure that was a crude, but quite clear replica of the temple on the Makanesh homeworld. It was small, probably only a single room, but the dome shape was clear. She closed her eyes and shook her head, clearing her focus. There was no way it could be the Makanesh. They didn’t have access to the gate, and though she’d seen stunners and indoor plumbing, there was nothing else to indicate they had the kind of technology that would bridge the considerable gap between a space gate and a settlement. It hit her a moment later. “Lorne, did the scans show any kind of a power source?” 

“I was just doing scans for lifesigns and atmospheric data. Give me a second.” A moment later, the HUD flickered to life again and Grace stared at the data on the screen. Lorne’s voice held a note of curiosity. “Yep. There’s some serious power output happening within the settlement.” 

Andy was out of his seat and positioning himself between them again. “Here?” His own voice was skeptical as he stared through the screen and at the village once more. “These guys don’t even look like they’ve discovered the wheel. How do they have power? Did they find a ZPM or something?” 

“No. Different pattern, no subspace signature. I can’t pinpoint the precise location. Something’s interfering with the scan.” Lorne’s eyes flicked over the display and a moment later, it changed, rendering data that was beyond Grace’s ability to read. 

She swallowed back the rising wave of bile in her throat and said quietly. “Work your magic with the sensors and see if you can get a reading below the surface, maybe twenty meters deep.”

Lorne paused, his hands still on the flight controls as he turned his head to stare at her. A moment later, he shrugged. “Why the hell not?” He closed his eyes for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration and the screen began to display scrolling information in Ancient. Grace’s grasp of the language was rudimentary at best, and she recognized exactly none of the words. Erickson, however, was good for something besides eating his way through every single mission. He pushed Garrett out of the way unceremoniously and scanned the screen. 

“What the hell?” Evan’s voice was soft. “Am I reading this right?” 

Jude leaned closer, reaching out to indicate a line on the screen. “There. Right there. It’s geothermal in origin but it’s being converted by some kind of a capacitor.” 

Grace strained to see what he was looking at, but had no idea of what the words on the display meant. She’d always been decent with languages, but Ancient was simply too complex. There was however, something familiar about it. She glanced to Jude, then to Evan before she spoke slowly, unsure that she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. “Jude, you reviewed that data Ronon and I got on the Makanesh homeworld, right?” 

Erickson’s gaze flicked to her for a moment and she saw the instant it registered. He returned his gaze and gestured to her seat. “Trade with me.” 

Grace yielded her seat and took up position behind Lorne, just as Andy rose to hang over the back of Erickson’s new position. Jude’s fingers flew over the controls, and the text on the screen was replaced by an image of the scans, then began to scroll at an almost alarming pace. “Zalenka uploaded the data to the jumper’s computer a few days ago.” 

Now that took her by surprise. “Why? Is that normal?” 

“Nope.” Jude continued as he gestured to Lorne. “Can you recalibrate the sensors to scan for radioactivity.” 

“Sure. Anything in particular you’re looking for?” Evan was already manipulating the controls without ever taking his eyes off the HUD. 

Grace watched in mute fascination as Erickson proved himself in a way she hadn’t seen him do before. “Radon, thorium-232, palladium. There’s a bunch that naturally occur when you draw geothermal energy. It’s not usually a big deal, but…” He paused mid-explanation when the results of the scan showed up. “Well that’s not normal.” Jude muttered as he leaned forward. 

“What?” Garrett demanded impatiently. “Some of us don’t speak geek, J. In English, please?” 

Jude’s gaze flicked between the two sides of the HUD as he manipulated the controls to align the images side by side. “Tritium.” She watched as the man paled noticeably. 

“Tritium.” Grace repeated quietly. “I’m sorry. I don’t…” 

Lorne’s brow furrowed and Jude breathed the words out quietly. “Tritium is usually found in a planet’s upper atmosphere. But it’s also a byproduct of nuclear reactors. It’s not something you should find when you’re looking for a geothermal energy vent. We need to land and get a closer look.” 

Shit. Shit. Shit. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.” Andy blurted, rising to his full height to stare at Lorne. “How does a place that looks like something out of the middle ages, a planet with maybe a hundred people on it, have nuclear capabilities?”

“And a space gate, don’t forget that part. They can’t access the gate without flight and I don’t think these guys have even invented the steam engine, let alone a space-capable engine.” Grace interjected. Her stomach was already pitching as Lorne turned the jumper for the clearing she’d pointed out on the map. 

As he set the down with barely a jolt and rose from the seat, his expression was sober. “I’ll take point, Andy, you’re with Grace in the middle. Jude, you’ve got our six.” 

For one stupid moment, Grace wanted Ronon beside her, not Andy. All the men on the team were more than capable of keeping her safe, but only Ronon would understand the terror that coursed through her. She’d been such a shit to him the last time they’d spoken and now, she wanted nothing more than to take it all back. He’d done everything he could to keep them safe. 

They exited the jumper, heading for the settlement at a steady, but cautious clip. At the first sign of life, Grace’s anxiety went up a notch. It was a man, seated beside a woman at a table, food spread out before them as they talked and laughed. It wasn’t the sight of the mundane activity that made Grace freeze in her tracks. It was what the woman was wearing. She reached out and gripped Lorne by the elbow. “We have to go.” 

He stopped, glancing at the couple and then at her. As he turned to face her, his expression was clearly confused. “What’s wrong?” 

He didn’t know. No one knew what had really happened on that planet. She and Ronon had left out the worst of it in their report and Lorne truly had no idea what they could be walking into. She couldn’t put words to the terror that began to fill her as the man rose from where he sat at the table and began to walk toward them. The woman rose as well, trailing behind him. Gone were the smiles and the laughter. The team had barely made it to the perimeter of the settlement and already she knew this was going to go horribly wrong. 

“Lorne, we need to go.” She hissed the words softly toward Evan, who placed his hands on the P-90 strapped across his chest. It was a position of readiness, of caution, but not a threat. 

He held up a hand as the man came closer, within earshot. “Relax. It’ll be fine. Just let me do the talking.” 

He didn’t understand. As she looked to Garrett and Erickson, she could see the curiosity in their eyes, but neither looked nearly freaked out enough. The man offered a polite smile as he approached and inclined his head. “Greetings.” 

“Hi there.” Lorne smiled in response, though it was tight-lipped in profile. She didn’t miss the way that Andy stepped forward, placing himself in front of her, as if on instinct. She had the pistol she always carried strapped to her thigh, but she was a terrible shot. Inexplicably, she didn’t feel safe. Fuck, she wanted Ronon. He would know what to do. Grace made her mind up that if she made it back to Atlantis, the first thing she was going to do was find the large Satedan and apologize for being difficult. If she made it back. When had this become a matter of if? The answer occurred to her at the same moment the man’s gaze pinned her, staring too intensely. It had become a matter of if the second she’d recognized the architecture of that temple as being a subpar copy of the one on the Makanesh homeworld. 

“Are you pilgrims?” The man inquired though his eyes didn’t stray from Grace’s form as he continued to scrutinize her. 

Evan gave his most charming grin. “Pilgrims. Ah, we’re explorers. We were wandering by and saw your settlement and thought we’d come say hello.” 

The man’s dark eyes flashed in surprise and the woman beside him pressed her lips into a thin line. “Akia, you may greet our guests.” 

The woman lifted her head and gave a thin smile of her own. “Greetings.” It was the only word to cross her lips. 

“So you have not come from the Atan?” The man’s voice was a bit more confused now, as if he were trying and failing to wrap his brain around Lorne’s story. 

Lorne’s eyes darted to Grace. She knew that word. She’d heard it before. She leaned closer to Lorne, her voice as low as she could manage. “Atan is the Satedan word for home.” 

That made the man’s head snap toward her, his eyes narrowing. “So you are from the Atan? And you speak freely?” 

Well shit. Grace couldn’t explain it, not now. She glanced to Evan, who was frowning. He smiled again, that boyish smile that put nearly everyone they met instantly at ease. “No. We’re not from there. Grace here is just really smart with stuff like that. That’s why we bring her.” 

“Smart?” The doubt in the man’s voice would have been insulting were she still capable of being surprised by anything the Makanesh did. “I see. Forgive my rudeness. I am merely surprised. My name is Lorek Var and this is my wife, Akia. Welcome to the Annex.” 

“Annex?” Andy glanced back at Grace and then to the man. “I thought you said they were Satedan.” 

Grace shook her head immediately. “No. I didn’t. I said the word he used is Satedan. He’s not Satedan. He’s one of the Makanesh, I think.” 

Lorek’s eyes were on her again, this time narrowing in suspicion. “You speak very openly for a woman.” 

Andy stiffened at those words. “O...kay.” He said slowly. “You know, Major, I’m starting to think that maybe we should come back another time.” 

That was a damn good idea. Lorne, however, wasn’t biting. When he got an idea in his head, he was like a dog with a bone, and right now he wanted answers to the questions they’d posed in the jumper. As long as he didn’t feel threatened, he wasn’t going to back down. He shook his head slightly toward Andy, though he smiled mildly at Lorek once more. “We do like our women chatty where we come from.” 

“How interesting.” Was the equally ambivalent answer. “Well, perhaps I should show you to the temple, so the Elders may answer your questions. Perhaps you might also answer some of ours.” 

“Oh. You have questions.” Lorne grinned. “See? I like that. Talking, making friends. That’s great.” 

Grace felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and looked toward Erickson, who had taken up position beside her. Even that didn’t set her at ease. They needed to leave. Going inside the temple was not going to end well, she could feel it in her bones. Even so, she fell into step with her team as Lorek began to lead the way, leaving Akia behind in front of their little home. 

Ten minutes later, things had gone from bad to worse. She stood inside the temple, barefoot. Not a single weapon among them. Of course the men felt welcomed, they’d been greeted with food and drink as the acolyte explained that all were welcome in the temple, so long as they came in peace. Well, in peace and barefoot. 

It took everything in Grace not to shiver at the sight of the familiar altar with it’s emblems, the carvings in the wooden arches over the windows that bore the family names. It was so like the temple in the city she and Ronon had barely escaped from that merely the sight made her blood run cold. She’d not spoken a word since they’d set foot inside. Something was about to go horribly fucking wrong. 

****

Ronon stared at the list of words in front of him, bored with the review already. “Seven, shall, show, six, small, start. This is stupid.” He lifted his head to stare at Teyla, who was equally bored. 

She lifted one shoulder in an elegant half-shrug. “Dr. Kopeski said the best way to build fluency is repetition. You are on the last section. Just keep going.” 

He closed his eyes, fighting against the humiliation that had come with being started at the lowest possible level when learning to read and write in a new language. Ronon glared down at the list and began to read once more, a growl of impatience entering his voice. “Ten, today, together, try, warm.” He flicked the page away from him and sighed, reaching for the worn paperback book, knowing damn well what came next. 

Teyla had been working with him for months now and by her wn judgment, and his, he was taking to English at a decent clip, but he hated every minute of it. It felt too much like being back in school. 

Ronon stared at the cover of the book. “Are you sure there’s nothing else in the reading room I can read?” 

“I’m afraid not. Dr. Kopeski says your current lexile level is 520. You’re outpacing all the expectations she had for you. But this is not something you can-” 

“Let’s just get this over with.” Ronon grumbled. He hated this book. He didn’t give a damn what his lexile level was. Usually, he loved reading. But English was such a barbaric language. Who the hell needed four forms to express each character? Satedan was far more elegant, with it’s tidy angles and expressive curves. One character, one sound. That was it. 

His friend sighed. “Very well. Perhaps the story will pick up and become interesting soon.” 

Ronon snorted and opened the book to the dog-eared page, clearing his throat as he began to read. “ I put on my new blue plaid cotton back-to-school dress. My mother likes me in blue. She says it brings out the color in my eyes. I wore my brown loafers witho-”

He was interrupted by the sound of Chuck’s voice over PA system. “Ronon and Teyla to the control room. Ronon and Teyla, please report to the control room.” 

“Thank fuck.” Ronon growled and tossed the hated book down. Personally he didn’t care when Margaret got her period, or grew breasts. Even holding the book made him feel like a fucking pervert. He rose to his feet and led the way out of the conference room, with Teyla right behind him. Fortunately, they weren’t far away. They descended the steps to see Sheppard approaching from the other direction, Weir hot on his heels. 

“What’s going on?” Teyla questioned as she watched Garrett and another man Ronon vaguely recognized from Lorne’s team being swarmed by medical personnel. 

Sheppard’s voice was tight. “Lorne’s mission went bad.” 

Garrett approached, no trace of a smile on his usually jovial face. “Last I saw heard, they had both of them in a cell.” Andy shrugged off the nurse who was trying to tend to a cut on his forehead, snapping at the man with more venom that Ronon had ever figured him capable of. “I said I’m fine. Go away.” 

The man with him, tall and blonde and in need of a haircut rolled his eyes as he batted at another nurse who was wielding her scanner a touch too close. “Dr. Weir, they’ve been following us since we landed in the jumper bay. We’re fine. Please… make them stop.” 

“Jones, Korten, thank you. You can go.” Dr. Weir stepped closer. “What happened?” 

Garrett closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m not even sure. Hell just broke loose. They took our weapons and weirdly, our shoes, and then gave us refreshments. Everything seemed fine until Grace opened her mouth. Then it was like… I don’t know. We managed to hold them off, but then suddenly there were stunners firing. We got seperated. Becque and Lorne were taken and I don’t know where.” 

“Wait. Last you heard?” Sheppard cut in. 

The other man, who Ronon didn’t know, grimaced. “Yeah. They said something a bunch of stuff in a language I didn’t understand. Probably Satedan. They wouldn’t let Becque talk to translate what they meant, and she probably wouldn’t have been able to. She only knew a couple of words to start with, said she picked them up on that planet she went to with Ronon a while back.” 

Ronon narrowed his eyes. Sheppard glanced at him in question and Ronon shrugged. How the hell was he supposed to know what was going on? “Do you remember any of them?” 

“Erickson?” Garrett glanced at the blonde man, who shook his head. Garrett pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. “I’m sorry, Colonel. It happened so fast. They were looking at Grace as she was speaking, then some guy grabbed her hand and was looking at it. There was nothing we could do. We tried to fight them off, but we-” 

“Her hand?” Teyla cut Garrett off, lifting a hand to stop him from speaking. The next thing Ronon knew, Teyla had reached for his own hand lifting it toward Garrett. He had to physically resist the urge to yank it away. He hadn’t explained the scar to anyone other than Teyla. And now five people were staring at it, suddenly curious. 

Garrett shook a finger at Ronon’s hand. “Yeah! Like that. Exactly like that. They saw it and they just went crazy.” 

Ronon’s stomach dropped. “Who?” 

“The elders in the temple.” Erickson supplied the last words that Ronon wanted to hear. 

That was all Ronon needed. He pinned Weir with a hard stare. “You sent people back there? After what happened last time?” 

“No.” Weir shook her head, watching as Ronon tugged his wrist from Teyla’s grip. “This is another planet in the database that was supposed to be uninhabited. They were doing a standard exploratory mission.” 

Dr. Weir stepped forward. “You think they’re Makanesh? How would they even get there? This planet has a space gate.” 

“Oh, they have a lot more than that.” Garrett was the one to speak. “But we really don’t have time to go into it now. We need to get back there, with more men.”   
Ronon turned on heel and was already heading for the locker room. Sheppard called out for him to stop. Like hell he would. Why were they still standing around? A moment later, Teyla was beside him, cutting him off in the hallway, her voice low. “Ronon, stop.” 

“Stop? They have her, Teyla. They took her.” The anger burned him, hatred swelling up inside him as he realized how very wrong this entire thing had gone. “And we don’t have the time to be standing around waiting for the Lanteans to get their shit together.” 

Teyla’s voice was firmer. “Ronon, we will get her back. But you cannot go in there like this. We need a plan. Your judgment is clouded by-” 

“My judgment is just fine.” Ronon snapped, stepping closer to Teyla. His size never intimidated her, but for one dark moment, he wished it did. “And I have a plan.” 

“Killing them all is not a plan, Ronon.” Teyla spoke bluntly. She glanced behind herself to where Sheppard and Garrett were rounding the corner, deep in conversation. She lowered her voice as she reached out to grip his arm. “Take a moment to think about this.” 

Ronon bared his teeth at her, jerking away from her. He didn’t speak another word as he turned on heel to stalk toward the locker room. Killing them all was a plan. It was a damn good plan. And one he could, and would, carry out. 

****


	21. Beware the Fury of the Patient Man

“Maybe it’s time to start talking.” Lorne’s voice was low and tight in the semi-darkness of the cell. Grace lifted her head to peer toward his shadowy form. He appeared the opposite of his usual sunny self, the cell lit only by two small cut outs high above their heads, haloing his dark hair and his eyes, making him look like a movie villain in a superhero film. “What aren’t you telling me, Grace?” 

So much. She’d kept so much a secret and now it was putting them all in danger. She had woken up in the cell with Lorne, but Andy and Jude were nowhere to be found. At least Jude had the gene, so there was a chance, however slim, that they had escaped and gone back to Atlantis for backup. Or they could be sitting in another cell, somewhere else. Guilt ate at her, acid in her throat. “I don’t know where to start.” 

“How about with the scar and why they spazzed when they saw it.” Evan shot back. 

She drew in a long, slow breath as she traced her fingers over the thin scar left from the day Ronon had given it to her. “Ronon had to cut me on that mission, himself as well. It’s a mark among these people of…” Grace swallowed, closing her eyes against the first part of the truth that she had hoped never to have to explain. “They forced Ronon to do it. To prove himself.” She concluded 

Evan was silent for a long minute before he snapped the words harshly. “Don’t bullshit me, Grace. Start talking.” 

“They locked us in a room, only let us out twice. They had a wall made of some kind of cloth, they were watching us.” The memory burned her with an odd mix of humiliation and warmth. “They forced him to prove he had me under control. You know we went in under the guise of a married couple, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Lorne echoed quietly. 

Grace cleared her throat, bowing her head as she drew her knees up to her chest. “I’m not sure how, or why, but they forced him to perform the rites of marriage. And a part of that was the cut.” 

There was a moment of silence before Lorne exhaled slowly. “That’s a pretty big thing to leave out of your report, Grace. Really big. You’re married to Ronon.” 

“No!” She shot back quickly, too quickly. “Of course not. It was just what we had to do to get out of there. Ronon knows it wasn’t real. We talked about it.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Evan didn’t hesitate to deliver the words. 

Of course she was. Wasn’t she? Grace licked her lips and forged onward. “We thought it would be enough, but it wasn’t. It was enough to make sure they didn’t take me from him, sell me off. But it wasn’t enough to convince them that Ronon was really one of their faithful followers.” 

Some of the anger drained from Lorne’s voice then, replaced by wary curiosity. “What do you mean?” 

“They were watching us, Evan.” She repeated her earlier words. “Every minute, they were watching us. Right up until the girl told Ronon that the guards were….” Grace paused a moment as something clicked in her mind. “Until the slave girl that brought us food told him something was happening. I was asleep…he told me later after…” 

After. Ronon had told her after they’d slept together for the second time. He’d known they were alone, that they weren’t being watched. Grace’s stomach tightened as butterflies launched in her belly. He’d known and he had woken her with gentle touches. She’d known he’d been different that time. Noticeably different. Grace closed her eyes as the memories assailed her. 

He’d been considerate at every turn. Gentle strokes over her body, intent and sweet as he’d quietly asked her if she was too sore to take him again. “Only mine.” Ronon had said those words with such conviction, but she’d put it down to them being watched. But then, only minutes later, as they’d been lying together afterward, he’d quietly informed her they were alone. He’d told her, straight out and she’d not even noticed. Was it possible that this entire time, he thought she knew? Everything aligned suddenly. From him dragging her to his room right after they’d arrived home to see if she was okay, to trying to protect her privacy. Even down to his chasing her down a few days later. It had been real. His words from earlier in that same day,right after they’d returned to the room from the temple, when he’d been undressing her he’d begun to speak of things she’d put down to just trying to appease those watching. Had he been telling the truth? What if he had? 

Grace should have been angry that he’d taken advantage of her not knowing they weren’t alone, to start that second round. He’d overstepped, but damn if she could muster anger right now as tears stung at her eyes with the realization. To Ronon, it had been real, at least the physical part of it. Did that mean the rest of it was too? 

“After what?” Lorne prodded quietly, cutting through her thoughts, his voice like a sharpened knife. 

“Nothing.” She answered him quietly, resolve surging into her veins as she looked at the cell door. Some things were private and needed to remain so, at least until she could talk to Ronon, if she ever saw him again. “Suffice to say they think I have a husband, and they know he’s either Satedan or Makan-” She fell silent as the door to the holding area opened.

Grace’s eyes moved to the form of the man who stood just behind the guard. She frowned faintly, her jaw tightening as she glanced to Lorne. Everything about this suddenly made even less sense. It took a moment for her to place him. As she did, her blood ran cold. “Ridak?” 

Lorne was on his feet instantly, placing himself between her and the men who approached the cell door. “You know this guy, doc?” 

Grace rose to her feet as she answered Evan. “He’s the elder who performed the marriage rites on the Makanesh home world.” 

Ridak smiled pleasantly. “Indeed, I was. Imagine my surprise that you would turn up here of all places.” 

“How did you get here?” She blurted the words before she could think better of it. “How are any of you here? The stargate is in orbit.” 

The man clucked his tongue at her. “Meddling in the affairs of men. Not a good look for you, Woman. Tell me. Where is your husband? I find it hard to believe he let you out of his sight. He seemed quite taken with you when I stood as witness to the rites.” 

Her heart began to beat wildly. “Probably on his way here right now.” She snapped without thinking. “And probably very pissed off, too.” 

Ridak’s lips curved up at the corners. “Amusing.” 

“You saw what he did to get me out of the temple in one piece. Seven of your men dead. Keep us held here and see what he does to you.” Grace had no doubt that Ronon would be out for blood, probably her blood once he got her alone. Or more likely Lorne’s for not listening to her in the first place. 

Lorne stood silently between the two of them until the guard produced a key from his robes and slipped it into the lock of the cell door. Evan then backed up, his hands rising to curl into fists. He didn’t speak, but watched the man, fully prepared to fight. 

It happened so fast that Grace didn’t get the chance to process it. The guard was flat on his back, eyes staring at the ceiling, his neck broken and Lorne had the stunner in his hand the man had been holding and Ridak backed up against the wall. 

The Elder raised his hands, his face betraying surprise for a moment before he blinked and something far more shrewd entered his eyes. “You don’t want to stun me. I can promise you that.” 

“Grace, let’s go.” Evan motioned for her to get behind him. She exited the cell and headed for the door. Lorne’s voice was icy, his tone betraying a calculating anger that she’d never heard from him before as he addressed Ridak. “You’re going take us to where you stored our weapons, and then you’re going to take us to the perimeter of the village and leave us there.” 

Ridak arched a brow and offered a dry chuckle. “Oh, I doubt that very much.” 

“You want to end up like your buddy there?” Lorne jerked his head toward the guard he’d killed with an expertise that rivaled Ronon’s own brutal efficiency. 

Grace saw doubt in Ridak’s gray eyes for a split second before his gaze hardened. “They won’t let me do that.” His voice was soft, and oddly held a note of regret. “They know you’re here. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t let you go.” 

“Who?” Grace demanded. “Who knows where here? Makai? That dirty old pervert doesn’t really think anyone’s afraid of him, does he?” 

She registered a flicker of genuine sadness as Ridak shook his head. “Unfortunately, Makai was killed in the assault on the temple. The rest of us, we barely escaped.” 

“Good.” She felt no pity as Lorne motioned with the stunner to the door. 

Ridak sighed and shook his head. “Be it on your own head.” With that he pushed the heavy wooden door open and into a hallway. A second later, Lorne was on top of her, pushing her down as stunners fired wildly down the hallway. She heard the thundering of footsteps and then the sound of Ridak shouting. A growl filled the air as Lorne was pulled off of her and thrown away, bodily back into the cell they’d almost managed to escape from. Grace watched in horror as he hit the far wall, his head bouncing off the surface and he crumpled to the ground. 

She lifted her head to find the source of that kind of strength, only to see the one thing she’d never seen in the flesh. A large, angry Wraith bared his teeth as it aimed the stunner directly at her. She had only a moment to fully feel the surprise and the terror before heat ripped through her as he fired. The last thing she saw was Ridak’s face, staring at her, his expression grim. 

****

“Will you please sit down? You’re making me seasick.” McKay’s voice held more than its usual note of irritation.

Ronon paused in his pacing as he stared at the planet below them. “Why aren’t we landing?” He ignored McKay, growling the words as he approached the front of the jumper once more. “Why are we just sitting here?” 

“I already told you I need to confirm the exact location and type of the energy source before we go in guns blazing.” McKay’s tone betrayed his impatience. 

“Why?” Ronon insisted as he braced his hands on the pilot and co-pilot’s seat, pinning Rodney with a glare. Had McKay noticed, he would have shrank back, but instead, the death glare was ineffectual as McKay focused on the HUD. 

McKay’ voice shifted to outright condescension. “You wouldn’t even understand if I drew you a picture.” 

Sheppard was the one to snap this time. “Rodney!” 

“What? You know it’s true. He’s just hovering and-” When McKay caught sight of the look of warning on Sheppard’s face he rolled his eyes and fell silent as he continued to work. 

Ronon dropped back into the seat he’d abandoned when they’d taken up orbit over the planet after exiting the space gate. Only Teyla seemed to understand the gravity of what they were facing. For the first time, he wished he had simply told the truth in his report and Weir’s judgment be damned. At least then they’d understand the full scope of what might be happening on the surface of the little blue planet below. 

“Turn us around, I need to get a look at the gate.” McKay’s voice no longer held the heat of irritation, but instead the assurance of the scientist he was. Even if he could sometimes be annoying, the man was brilliant. 

Ronon leaned to look out the windscreen, staring toward the gate, trying to see what it was that McKay was seeing. The gate looked like any gate, floating there in space. He heard McKay’s groan, but couldn’t quite place the cause. His gaze flicked from the gate to Rodney, then back to the gate. “What?” He demanded as he resisted the urge to rise once more. 

“The orbital stabilizers aren’t original.” McKay pointed to the twin stabilizers mounted on either side of the gate, off center. “They’re salvaged and cobbled together with what looks like Wraith tech.” 

Ronon’s brows drew up at that revelation. “Wraith?” 

“Well that answers how the planet’s gate got to space without the apparent technology to do so.” Teyla murmured quietly. 

Unable to sit still any longer, Ronon rose from his seat once more and stepped to fill the space between McKay and Sheppard again. “So you’re saying the Wraith put the gate from the surface of the planet into orbit. Why?” 

Sheppard snorted. “Why do the Wraith do anything.” 

It was a fair point. Ronon braced his hands on the backs of the seats. That familiar anger began to rise in him. “Are there Wraith on the ground?” 

“We’re too far out to tell and unless you want me to take the time to recalibrate the sensors, I have no idea. I’m trying to find the energy type and pinpoint that before-” McKay tipped his head, his fingers moving over the controls as he isolated at section of the continent. “Oh crap.” 

“Oh crap? What oh crap?” Sheppard stared at McKay, who’d gone silent as he stared at an image of something. All Ronon saw was squiggles. Lots of squiggles and lines. Somehow, those squiggles and lines though, made McKay nervous. 

He watched as Rodney swallowed hard and his expression turned grim. “They have a nuclear reactor.”

Sheppard’s face twisted in disbelief. “What?! How did that happen? The Wraith have never had nuclear capabilities, Rodney.”

McKay pointed toward the screen, the words tripping over themselves to get out. “How the hell should I know? I’ve been here as long as you have? My guess, the Wraith scavenged the technology and somehow reverse engineered it to take advantage of the geothermal-” At the round of blank stares he was getting, he rolled his eyes yet again. “Does it matter?” 

“No.” Ronon ground out the words as Sheppard shook his head and motioned for Ronon to retake his seat. After he’d dropped into it, Sheppard broke orbit and headed for the surface of the planet below. 

****

When Grace woke with a start she was no longer in the cell. She stared wildly around herself, more than a little surprised to find that she was still alive. The Wraith hadn’t fed on her. Or at least she didn’t think he had. But that didn’t mean much, considering there were now shackles around her wrists and she was attached to something, rendered immbile. 

She twisted to study the room. It was made of the same aged plaster as the rest of the temple had been, so she had to still be inside the temple walls. There were still those two slits serving as windows, high over her head. Grace’s heart sank as she registered that Lorne was nowhere to be seen. What if they had chosen him to feed to the Wraith instead? What if he was dead and she was next? 

She closed her eyes, fighting back the rising panic. It would do her no good to freak out. Instead, she focused on what she did know. She was alive, most likely still in the temple. She was on the floor, arms fastened to a post that was taller than she was in this position, forcing her to kneel rather than sit properly. 

Grace drew in a slow breath to a count of four, then exhaled to the count of eight. Then again. When she opened her eyes again, she studied the post. A wooden beam, fastened into the floor, sanded smooth. Her wrists were physically locked in place, rather than being hooked by the shackles. Okay, so she wasn’t going anywhere. She glanced back to the windows, and judging by the lighting, going on the little she knew, it was still mid-day, so she hadn’t been out all that long.

Her eyes came to rest on the wall opposite her. A mural. A fucking mural. She rolled her eyes, instantly knowing what lay on the other side. Irritation filled her, hot and fast. “I know you’re there, you fucking pervert. I know you’re watching. Just like you watched on your damn homeworld.” 

There was silence in answer. A minute or so later, the door to the room opened. This time, Ridak entered and there was no guard with him, no Wraith. He was alone as he stepped inside and pushed the door closed. He remained silent as he stared at her, studying her intently. When he finally spoke, his tone was curious. “How did you find this planet?” 

“Sheer dumb luck.” She answered honestly. “So what are the Wraith doing here? Pretty sure they didn’t just give you a ride from that shit hole you call home out of the goodness of your hearts.” 

A smirk tipped up the corners of his lips. “Does Ronon find that sharp tongue appealing?” 

At that moment, Grace’s temper was unchecked, probably not her best judgment, but she was too angry to care. “Oh, Ronon likes me just fine exactly the way I am. So what’s the deal? Wraith worshippers? Allies?” 

Ridak lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “They provide us with a means to an end, we provide them with a stable food source and help them in their final annihilation of an enemy that was a thorn in their side for a little longer than they cared to tolerate.” 

Now that didn’t make any sense at all. Why did religious types love talking in so many fucking riddles? Grace narrowed her eyes on Ridak. “Care to elaborate?” 

“Sateda.” He supplied with a tight smile. “They did a pretty good job of cleaning out the undeserving, but a few too many got away.” 

Those words made her stomach turn. “But the Makanesh were taking in the Satedans, letting them train to fight the Wraith in the-” The second the words left her mouth, Ridak shook his head slowly. Sickening dread filled her. There were only a few hundred left. “You’re telling me that when Satedans come to you, you give them to the Wraith?” 

Ridak’s smile was brittle. “Well, you aren’t stupid.” 

How many had they done this to? How many Satedans had survived the attack on their world and fought to survive for years, thought they’d found sanctuary only to be delivered into the hands of the very creatures they’d fought so hard against? If she’d had anything in her stomach, Grace would have vomited. If Ronon hadn’t gotten them away, he’d have been among them. “You’d do that to your own people? How could you?” 

“They aren’t my people. The Makanesh are my people. The Makanesh are righteous in the eyes of the Ancestors, Grace. The Satedans were hedonists who’d lost their way. Lacking in honor and integrity. They traded their souls for survival for hundreds of years. They replaced reverence and fear of the Ancestors with secularism that rotten their society to its very core.” Her first impression of Ridak, that he’d been devoted to his faith now proved itself correct. 

His voice was laden with conviction and regret. “The Ancestors called the Satedans to a high purpose, a purpose which they abandoned in favor of self-reliance and rejection of all that is good and right. They damned themselves when they did. The Wraith have left us unharmed for almost ten years because of the actions we took to protect our people. The Ancestors have protected us because we chose the path of-” 

“Spare me the sermon. I’m a Southern Baptist Deacon’s daughter. I’ve heard it all before. Different gods, same bullshit.” Ridak’s eyes narrowed at the venom in Grace’s voice. She continued, knowing that all she needed was time. “The Satedans came to you out of trust, and you lied to them, you sacrificed them. It’s genocide, plain and simple. You’re no better than the fucking Wraith.” 

She knew the instant she’d gone too far. Ridak’s hand moved to his belt and she registered the movement only a second before the heavy leather strap came down across her shoulders. The pain was incredible, unlike nothing she’d ever felt. It cut through her and drew a sharp cry. Her head dropped as he struck again, and this time, she was braced for it. Grace pressed her lips together in a thin line to keep from screaming. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. The blows rained down on her back, and the anger she’d unleashed on him now morphed into a rage unlike anything she’d ever known. She was going to die here, she knew it without a shadow of a doubt. 

Grace opened her eyes, her body trembling from the pain but she forced herself to move. As she pushed herself to her feet, she didn’t even bother to try to shrink from the blows anymore. She’d lost count. She didn’t even have a damn plan. Fight or flight, she now understood it in a way she never had before. Absent the option of flight, she was going to fight if it was the last thing she did. 

When she twisted her body to face him, Ridak paused, lashing out to backhand her across the face. Just as the blow made contact, she took her chance, kicking out with her left foot and nailing the bastard right in the balls. He dropped like a stone, his hands moving to cup his injured groin as he groaned in pain and surprise. 

The pain that ravaged her body only served to buoy her resolve. No one had the right to hit her, not anymore. Never again. She’d promised herself that the day she’d left her father’s home for the last time, when she’d been only seventeen and slipped out her bedroom window with only her backpack and the cash she’d managed to save up from babysitting. She was never going to let another human being beat her down again. She’d decided it then and there. And this jackass wouldn’t be any different. 

Grace kicked again, this time catching him across the face. He sprawled back, fortunately still within her reach. Even as he lifted one hand from his groin, she heard shots in the distance. P90 fire. She’d know that sound anywhere. A moment later, she heard the electronic report of a familiar gun. The anger in her gut only intensified. They were here. They were here and they were risking their lives, Ronon was risking his life to save hers, again. It shouldn’t be this way. She shouldn’t be so damn helpless. 

That only fueled the rage as she bellowed and tugged at the post that held her in place. The chains creaked and she heard the splintering of old wood as she felt it yield ever so slightly. Ridak pushed himself up sluggishly on his hands and knees, and she ignored him for the moment as she braced one bare foot against the wood, pulling as hard as she could. 

From the corner of her eye, she could see Ridak’s hand disappear into his robe and he produced a thin, wicked looking blade. She knew what was coming and she channeled her inner badass, or maybe her inner kamikaze pilot and screamed out her fury as she pulled at the chains one last time and this time, the pin that held the shackle in place gave way. 

Now free, she spun to whip the heavy chain toward Ridak, looping it around his hands. She twisted her own and gripped the dagger by the first thing she could. The sharp blade bit into her fingers and instantly she felt the sting of the skin breaking. 

The sound of the P90 fire was closer now. Ridak’s lips parted as he spat the words at her. “You brought them here, you little bitch!” 

“No! You did this to yourself.” Grace shot back. Her anger overrode her good sense and she kneed him in the balls once more for good measure. This time he loosened his grip on the knife and she was able to drag it, blade first from his hands. He dropped to the ground and she was on him instantly. She no longer cared that she was winning. She wanted blood. She’d never wanted to kill anyone in her life and for the first time, she truly understood a shadow of the depth of rage that seemed to be a part of Ronon. 

She flipped the dagger and leaned over Ridak, gripping him by the hair and hauling him to his knees. He was heavy and big, but adrenaline and hatred fueled her on. She slipped her arm over his neck and drove the knife awkward into his back. He released a stunned cry, his hands coming up to clutch at her elbow as she tightened her hold on him, cutting off his air as she began to imitate the movements she’d seen when Ronon had stabbed one of the guards on the Makanesh homeworld during their escape. It was the only death she’d seen, but she did her best and plunged the dagger into him again, then pulled it out. In and out with quick repeated motions. It was too easy. In one second, Ridak was gasping and struggling and in the next, he was limp. 

****

There weren’t as many Wraith as he’d expected. Only a dozen so far, mostly drones. Ronon watched as Teyla’s gunfire dropped another of the Wraith drones. Behind her, Rodney was clinging to his tablet, crouched down behind one of the carved wooden pillars as he worked to try to identify just how in the fuck they had a forcefield. 

“Rodney, hurry up!” Sheppard hissed from his spot behind the pillar in between Teyla and Ronon. 

Ronon lifted his gun and fired at another of the guards, hating that Sheppard had insisted it be set to stun. The man hit the ground, his own stunner falling from his fingers. 

“You can say that like it can actually make me go any- got it! Go!” McKay’s voice was all Ronon needed to round the corner into the temple’s back hallway. The telltale glimmer of the forcefield was gone and as another Wraith appeared around the corner, Ronon heard a familiar voice coming from one of the rooms down the hall. 

“I hear Lorne!” Ronon called back to Sheppard as Teyla and McKay took up position next to him. Sheppard made his way to the front, firing toward a Wraith, this one probably a scientist or a commander. Not that it mattered. It was dead before it hit the ground. 

Sheppard peered around the corner and nodded. “Two doors. Rodney?” 

They were a well-oiled machine and Ronon was surprised to realize at that oddest of moments, that it felt very much like his squad on Sateda had. They knew how to work together without even needing commands. 

“I’ve got three clustered together in the room nearest us, looks like the middle room is empty and then two at the far end of the hallway.” McKay’s voice held no fear, something that always fascinated Ronon. When push came to shove, even McKay had his own brand of bravery. 

Sheppard glanced around the corner once more. “McKay, I want you to stay here. Ronon, you head for the room at the end of the hall, Teyla and I will take the first room with the three guys in it.” 

Ronon nodded and waited for Sheppard’s signal before he headed down the hallway. He didn’t stop as he sprinted for the door at the end of the narrow corridor, but hurled himself forward, kicking out at the weakest point. The latch splintered and gave way and the door swung inward. Ronon swung sideways, pressing himself to the wall at the same time the door bounced off the wall behind it, sending a spray of plaster to the floor. 

There was a thump and then silence. No stunner fire, no enemy that came to greet him. Cautiously, Ronon stepped into the room gun raised only to find a blur of hair and flying toward him, shrieking in a voice that was unmistakably a battle cry. Ronon reacted on instinct when he saw the flash of blood-stained steel the form wielded, one hand rising to block the blow before it could land. A second later, he heard a gasp as the person dropped the blade to the floor with a clatter and he realized he was pointing his gun directly at Grace. 

She was covered in blood and bruises but she was in one piece. Ronon lowered his gun and studied her for a moment as she stared at him, as if she couldn’t believe it was really him. “Ronon?” 

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. And Grace whipped around. Ronon watched in mute fascination as she dove for the knife, her wrists still shackled together. “Motherfucker! Just die!” 

Ronon’s eyes widened as he heard the sound of P90 fire from behind himself and he spun, taking up a defensive position and staring down the hallway, even as he registered Grace bending to drive the knife into the fallen form of a man clad in the robes of an Elder. She moved with an unexpected power, a technique that was oddly familiar as she made quick, deep thrusts of the weapon into his abdomen. A moment later, the man hit the floor again, this time unmoving, and undoubtedly dead. 

A second later, the gunfire stopped and he heard Sheppard’s voice in his radio. “Clear. We’ve got Lorne. Ronon?” 

Ronon stared at Grace and realized belatedly that she’d killed the man with a technique she must have learned from seeing him do it. It didn’t require much skill, but relied more on speed. He reached up and tapped his radio to answer his friend. “Clear. I found Becque.” 

A moment later, Lorne appeared in the hallway, between Sheppard and Teyla, armed with Teyla’s 9 mil. Ronon finally relaxed marginally as he studied Grace. “You okay? That’s a lot of blood.” 

“Not mine.” She answered almost too calmly. 

The pride Ronon felt in that moment was trumped only by the relief. She stared at him, then toward the body of the man that Ronon now recognized as Ridak, the man who’d served as witness to their marriage and suddenly nothing made sense anymore. “What the hell is he doing here?” 

There was a moment of pain over Grace’s pretty face that made Ronon’s guard instantly go up. She shook her head and gripped the knife with a new kind of determination. “I’ll explain it all later. Can we just go?”


End file.
